Game of Thrones-DragonBorn
by nicolette.seeley
Summary: Set 25 years after the defeat of the Night King and Dany's rise to the Iron Throne, we continue to follow our beloved characters and see what fates lie ahead now that so-called peace has been restored to the world. There is a new prophecy, now that Ice and Fire have united and one last trial in store before there can ever truly be peace.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story takes place 25 years after the defeat of the Night King, and assumes that Dany was able to finally claim the Iron throne with Jon at her side. This is my take on what happens to our favorite characters years down the road, with many surprises to come!**

Chapter 1

King's Landing

The sun's warm rays wash over the marvelous capital of King's Landing, home to many kings and queens from past centuries. Home to the Targaryens.

Queen Daenerys walks with her pale hands clasped together, the skirts of her long silk dress of black and gold flow gracefully behind her and seem to shimmer in the sunlight with her movements. She walks through the courtyard, admiring the lovely collage of chrysanthemums, orchids, and azaleas which had only just begun to bloom with the arrival of spring.

She closes her eyes and listens to the bird singing their sweet songs to the Gods, and lets the gentle breeze tease her long, silver hair around her face. For a moment she forgets that she is Queen. She forgets that she has seven kingdoms to rule. For a moment she allows herself to just simply _be._

Across the courtyard, Jon Snow is walking alongside his hand, Ser Davos Seaworth, discussing matters of the crown. Jon comes to a slow stop when he sees Daenerys standing just a few feet away, her back turned to them.

"...and we still have to deal with the Iron Bank.." Ser Davos trails off as he realizes the King is no longer listening. "Your Grace?" he furrows his brows and then realization sets in when he sees what it is-or _who_ it is that has caught his king's attention. He fights a grin and clears his throat.

"Hmm?" Jon blinks at him, his dark eyes clouded. "Oh, yes, yes-the Iron Bank. I trust that you will see to that, Ser Davos?" Jon claps a heavy hand on Davos's shoulder with a nod. "If you excuse me.."

Jon turns toward Daenerys and Ser Davos watches him for a moment, amusement dancing on his age-worn face, before he turns and heads back toward the castle.

As Jon approaches Daenerys she speaks without turning her head. "This weather is an omen from the Gods. The coming of Spring brings good fortune to Westeros."

"Don't speak of omens," Jon says darkly as he moves to stand next to her, shoulders almost touching. "The last one we had nearly brought death and destruction to us all."

"Yes, but it's been twenty five years now, my love." Daenerys looks at Jon, a soft smile tugging at her perfect lips and he melts just as much now as he did all those years ago when they first met. "And things have been far from perfect, yes, but there is peace in knowing that all we have to deal with are things we're used to, rather than dead men."

Jon can't argue with that. After the War for the Dawn, with the Night King and his army defeated it was like a huge cold weight had been lifted from Westeros. The world was back as it should be, with real world problems with real living people. Jon wouldn't have it any other way. But still, a sadness still tugs at his heart like a thorn when he thinks of that dark time. The time where there was so much death. So much loss.

"Many lives were lost so that we may live," Jon softly reminded her, not that she needed reminding. Daenerys knew very well what the war had cost them. It had cost her Ser Jorah Mormont, her loyal friend that willingly laid down his life to protect her. It had cost her the lives of many she had freed and sworn to protect and lead.

The hardest loss, however, was that of her very own first born daughter. She was almost overwhelmed by a heavy cloud of sadness and she seemed to sway on her feet. She reached out to grasp the rail in front of her, squeezing it so tight her knuckles went white. Jon glanced at her and covered her small hand with his own, and he felt her relax under his touch.

Daenerys had fallen pregnant during the war, and afraid for the life of her child and on a command from the red Priestess, Melisandre, who acting on orders from the Lord of Light had advised Daenerys to send her child far away to the foreign land of Essos with Missandei to look after her. Dany had fought hard to convince herself it was the right thing to do, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't cover up the hole in her heart for sending her baby away. Even though she knows that it was necessary and desired by the Lord of Light himself.

" _You must have faith that your daughter will one day return to you," Melisandre, the mysterious red woman had said to Dany and Jon years ago. After the war was over and the iron throne was reclaimed from the hands of their enemies, they had hoped they would finally be able to go and find their daughter and bring her home. But Melisandre insisted that R'hllos, as she calls her god, had other plans and they must not interfere._

" _You expect us to pretend we don't have a daughter out there who needs us!" Dany had cried out, wanting to throw herself at the infuriating woman but Jon had had his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her back. "The war is over now, she belongs here, with us!"_

" _The Lord of Light-"_

" _-I don't care what your lord says!" Dany shrieked, tears streaming from her violet eyes. "I want her back! I want her…" her words had turned to choked sobs as Jon held her, fighting tears of his own. He wanted their daughter back just as much as she did, he longed to meet the tiny bundle he had created with the love of his life. But after being brought back to life and being able to defeat the night king, Jon had reason enough to believe in the Lord of Light and have faith. He knew his daughter was meant for a greater destiny, and he knew better than anyone else alive that you couldn't escape destiny._

Daenerys seemed to snap out of her trance, and she briskly wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her eye at the painful memory. "I can't afford to look weak to the people. Things are expected of me."

"Look at me."

Violet eyes met dark brown, and she felt his warmth and love infuse into her. Oh, how she loved this man. He was her King, her life. Blood of her blood. She would never have even been standing here in King's Landing without him and his many sacrifices.

Jon trailed the back of his hand softly against her cheek, nothing but affection for his wife. He chose to follow her all those years ago because he believed in her. He fell in love with her even when he didn't want to. Now she was his Queen and the mother of his children. They were truly made for each other.

"You are a Queen," he said to her softly. "You can look or feel whatever you want, especially around me. And if the people have a problem with it, well.." his full lips turned up into a grin. "Then you can just unleash the dragon."

Daenerys let out a laugh, unable to resist her husband's humor. They laughed together, and it felt nice. It felt free.

…

King's Landing-Dragon Pit

The clash of steel rang around the stone walls of the dragon pit as the men sparred. Prince Eddard Targaryen, paced around the men, watching them fight closely. He was the eldest son to Jon and Daenerys and was therefor the heir to the iron throne, and also Lord Commander of the royal army.

Standing tall with a body strengthened and hardened by years of battle, and a handsome face crowned by a head full of rich, black curls he resembled his father in every way except height. He was very handsome, and there wasn't a lady in all the seven kingdoms who wouldn't kill for the chance to marry him.

Eddard, named for his late great uncle Eddard Stark, was a young man of honor and quiet seriousness. There wasn't anyone who could question his honor or dedication to the realm and devotion to his family. He didn't much care for battle, in fact he hated to spill blood. But it couldn't be denied that he was good at it, a truly gifted fighter.

His second in command, Daario Naharis stood at the front of the pit with his arms crossed as he watched the men train. Though twenty five years had aged him, he was still undeniably handsome and strong. He had come all the way from Essos shortly after the Great War to pledge his sword to Queen Daenerys and brought his Second Sons with him. Now the royal army that serves the capital of Westeros is the largest and strongest army in the realm and is still growing.

"Parry!" Daario barked at the new young soldiers, freshly sworn into the royal army and had just begun their training. "Don't let the enemy get the best of you. You must trace his movements with your eyes. A man's eyes are just as much a weapon as his sword. Wouldn't you agree, my prince?" the older soldier asks of Eddard.

"Aye." Eddard steps forward and draws his sword. The group of recruits stop fighting and watch nervously as the prince approaches. Daario chuckles. These boys are all so green they piss grass, none of them ever having tasted battle.

"You take your eye off your enemy for one second, and that one second could cost you your life," Eddard says wisely, his dragon steel sword poised. He locks eyes with the nearest soldier, a boy named Hadrian. Eddard stops and gives a slight nod to the boy, a signal to attack him.

Hadrian swallows and hesitates, and Eddard can see the calculation in his eyes as he decides the best move. He finally lunges forward and swings at Eddard. The prince easily dodges the attack and as quick as a snake, whips his sword toward Hadrian for a counter. Hadrian locks his sword with Eddards with a loud _clang!_ Beads of sweat gather on his forehead as he strains to overpower the prince. Eddard takes a step back and in one quick movement has his sword firmly against Hadrian's chest, which heaves as the boy stares in amazement at the prince.

"But I was watching you!" he protests, lowering his sword.

"But you weren't _seeing,"_ Eddard tells him. "Which brings us to our next lesson."

Hadrian's eyes focus on something over Eddard's shoulder and the boy quickly kneels to the ground, and everyone else follows suit. Eddard turns to see his father walking swiftly toward them and quickly lowers his sword, dipping his head in respect to the king.

"Father."

Jon acknowledges everyone with a nod and focuses his gaze on his son. "Training hard I see?"

"Aye." Daario Naharis speaks up, tossing his sickle blade in the air before catching it and sheathing it. "These wet ears have a long way to go before they become knights, but they're not the worst bunch I've seen." He comes to stand beside Eddard and eyes Jon, the hint of a challenge in his gaze. It is evident to everyone in the capital that Daario and Jon don't like each other, probably because of Daario's obvious affections for the Mother of Dragons.

"Come to join us, your Grace?" Daario asks, his hand on the his sword hilt.

Jon meets his gaze with disdain and answers. "As much as my old bones could use the exercise, no." He looks back at his son. "Your mother requests your presence in the throne room."

"Yes, father." Eddard bows with respect and turns to address his men. "As you were. Daario, you're in charge."

The prince starts to head back toward the castle and Jon turns to follow him when Daario calls out mischievously, "I'll be waiting on that friendly little spar, your Grace!"

Jon stops and turns his head to cast a glare at Daario's smug face. "If it is your wish to look foolish in front of your men, very well. I'll add it to my long list of things to do."

And with that he turned to follow his son out of the dragon pit.

…

King's Landing-Throne Room

Daenerys sits perched on the iron throne in all her beauty, engaged in a discussion with her hand, Tyrion. A few loyal Dothraki warriors that had survived the war remain as part of the Queen's guard, along with a couple most trusted soldiers of the royal army. Lord Varys stands at her left side, a large tome open on a pedestal in front of him, his quill dashing across the aged parchment as it is his duty to record everything that occurs in meetings.

The great doors swing open and Prince Eddard and King Jon enter the large throne room. Daenerys looks up and smiles at the sight of her husband and dear son.

"My dear, son," she rises from the throne and gathers up her dress to go down the steps to meet her son. She takes Eddard's hands and beams at him. She can never get over how much he looks like his handsome father. "I have news."

"News?" Eddard raises his brows to Jon, whose face gives nothing away. "The last time you had news, I was getting yet another younger sibling."

"Yes, they do seem to pile up, don't they?" Tyrion teased, his words met by gentle laughter through the room. Even Dany had to laugh.

Not counting Rhayana in Essos, Daenerys and Jon had five children together- Eddard being the eldest, then Alexander, Katarina, Kaiden, and Caius. When she found out she was fertile again, she and Jon didn't waste any time surrounding themselves with children to love.

"No, that ship sailed long ago. Although, not without lack of trying," Dany and Jon meet each other's gaze playfully and Eddard resists the urge to vomit, although he has to admire his parents young hearts and open affection for one another. He hoped to have that with a woman some day.

"I have found you a wife worthy of my blood," Dany tells him, and Eddard isn't sure he heard her correctly. "Her name is Ophelia Karstark, of the grand city of Volantis. Her beauty is legend from across the narrow sea. She will arrive within the fortnight and you will be wed."

At first Eddard doesn't know quite what to say. He had always thought he'd marry one day, yes, but not quite so soon. And he hadn't expected his mother to be the one to choose his bride for him.

"Did you hear your mother?" Jon spoke, placing his hand on Eddard's shoulder. "You'd better shape up before the arrival of your bride to be."

"Um, yes." Eddard forced a smile and dipped his head to the Queen. "I am honored, mother. I can't wait to meet her." But in truth he was already shaking in his boots. What would she think of him? What would he think of her? Would they fall in love? Or would it just be another loveless political marriage as seemed to be custom in Westeros?

….

Winterfell

The noise of the meeting room starts to make Sansa's head ache, and she quickly wraps up the discussion and dismisses her council. The weight of responsibility as Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North weighs heavily on her and she must feel ten years older than she actually is.

"My lady," Lord Ivis nods to Sansa as he leads the council out. Sansa stays seated for a while before finally dragging herself to her feet. How she longs to just crawl into bed and forget her troubles. Forget that there is a house full of enemies that want to see her house burn, and her entire family with it.

Twenty five years since the War for the Dawn had brought peace to the land of Westeros, but hadn't lasted long before it became known that the Freys thrived and somehow managed to rebuild. Now fueled with anger and resentment toward the Starks, and with the primary target-Arya, being out of reach-they turned their target at Winterfell, well within reach.

The Starks and the Freys had been locked in a bitter rivalry for years, and it was only a matter of time before they decided to attack and exact their revenge. Sansa grew tired of living in fear-even with allies and support from King's Landing. She couldn't afford to lose any of her men or put her family at risk for another stupid war.

Sansa decided she needed some fresh air after being holed up inside all day, and walked out into the courtyard to find it alight with activity. Farm animals squealed and grunted, kids laughed and chased around dogs. Men sparred and fought outside the barracks. Smoke billowed from the blacksmith as the clang of steel could be heard throughout Winterfell.

It made her think of her husband, Gendry, who was probably hard at work, crafting their livelihood. Sansa made her way toward the blacksmith and peaked in. Sure enough she found him, pounding on a blade with a hammer.

She liked to watch him work, admired the way his muscles rippled and the sweat that glistened on his sun kissed skin. It was a wonder how she would end up falling in love with a smith boy, but he really was much more. They had bonded during the war, and Gendry had fought as valiantly as any knight Sansa had ever seen. But what made her fall for him was when he nearly died saving her from a group of wights. The horror of it still haunted her from time to time.

Gendry had proven himself to be more than a smith, he was a brave warrior, and strong. He could wield a hammer like none she'd ever seen. And as her husband he was lord of Winterfell, and rightfully so.

Only when he turned to soak the blade in the molten with a faint _hiss_ did he see his wife standing there, leaning against the beam, watching him. His freckled brown face turned into a smile and his dark blue eyes softened with affection.

"How long you been standing there, my lady?" he teased, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands with.

"Long enough." Sansa tilted her chin up for a kiss which he willingly planted on her lips. When they pulled away she looked at him. "You look exhausted, my love. You should retire for the evening."

"You may have just given me a reason to."

The two step out of the smith and out into the courtyard. Their youngest son, Ryon dashes past them, a flock of chickens scurrying away in a flurry of feathers and offensive squawks as the youngest Stark chases them. Sansa and Gendry watch their son with affection.

Sansa wished she could enjoy moments like this without the threat across the north looming over them.

"I'll need to leave for King's Landing in the morning," Gendry breaks her thoughts. "Got another shipment to deliver."

"Can't one of the others do it?" Sansa suddenly feels apprehensive. She doesn't like the thought of Gendry leaving Winterfell for a long period of time. "Why must you go yourself?"

"I've been wanting to pay a visit to Davos and Jon for a while. And you know I like to travel. The quiet of the road is relaxing to me." He meets his wife's anxious look and concern seeps into his gaze. "What is it, Sansa?" He answers his own question just as soon as it left his mouth and he sighs heavily. "Still paranoid about the blasted Freys?"

"As we all should be," She says sharply, turning to walk across the courtyard. "It's only a matter of time before they make their move."

"You've been saying that for years, and the Freys have made empty threats for years," Gendry walks beside her, shrugging away her worries. "They know the second they attack us, they're fucked. Your brother would put a stop to that before it even started."

"And how long would it take for an army to get here from King's Landing?" Sansa retorted. "How much blood would be spilled before then? I don't want to live in fear-"

"Then don't." Gendry stops her and turns her to face him. "They barely have an army my love. They are still fractured from the damage your sister dealt them years ago."

"And yet my sister didn't kill all the Freys," Sansa argued bitterly. "One managed to slip through her fingertips and has been rebuilding all these years. They have hated us for years, all the way back to when my brother, Robb was alive. They will leap at a chance to murder us all."

"Then I will smash every last one of them to the ground." Gendry placed his callused hands on Sansa's face. "No one will hurt my family and Winterfell will never fall. Not so long as I'm alive. That I promise you."

Sansa wanted to believe in his words, and it was hard not to as she looked into his deep blue eyes and felt the comforting touch of his labor hardened hands. But Sansa had been used to living in fear since she was a girl, cowering for her life in King's Landing which seems like such a long time ago now.

"Besides," Gendry continued, "as long as we continue supplying them with dragon steel, that should keep them at bay. No one in Westeros has ever crafted such steel since valyrian steel ages ago. That is something we will always have in advantage."

He had a point. When Gendry learned of an entire cave of dragon glass at Dragonstone years ago, he had taken a sample of it and started experimenting. It took some years of trial and error, but he had managed to forge a blade which could almost rival valyrian steel, and was the most valuable in Westeros. It became the main source of income for House Stark, as they provided weapons to all seven kingdoms. And it was indeed probably the main reason the Freys haven't attacked them yet-they would forfeit their right to the valuable supply.

"True enough," Sansa agreed. "Let us hope it will enough to appease them."

…..

Winterfell-Dining Hall

The Starks sat and dined together that night. Sansa tried not to think about Gendry taking off across the countryside toward King's Landing, hundreds of miles away. She just couldn't stand the thought of him being away from her for so long.

Ryon, who was six years old threw a breadroll across the table at Talia, his fourteen year old sister.

"Ow!" Talia shot daggers at her younger brother. "Mother!"

"Oh hush now, it's only bread," Gendry teased, reaching over to playfully pinch Talia's cheek, making her giggle.

Sansa watched the exchange, feeling a wave of nostalgia as she remembered a time when her sister Arya would often throw food at her as a favorite dinner game of hers when they were children. How long ago that seemed. Sansa often found herself thinking of her sister.

"Mother, when is aunt Arya coming home?" Ethan, Talia's twin asked, as if he could read Sansa's thoughts.

Sansa smiled weakly at her son. "I don't know, my sweet. I expect she's still travelling the world." Arya had gone her separate way after the war years ago, seeking to go travel and live a life unbound by rules. She would send ravens from time to time and had even visited on occasion, but hadn't in the last couple years. Gods only knew what she was up to, but Sansa knew her sister was a survivor.

"Auntie is so brave," Talia said admirably. "I hope to be like her one day."

"Yeah right, you can't even hold a sewing needle, much less a sword!" Asher, the second eldest son teased. He had fiery red hair like Sansa and a temper to match. He was always getting into fights and trying to prove himself the biggest and strongest.

"Shut up!"

Their eldest, Rodrick, hadn't returned from his hunting expedition he embarked on with a few of the other men in Winterfell. It had become a custom among the men now to go out hunting wild boar and sleep under the stars. She didn't approve of course, it was dangerous and each night he was away from home she worried. She remembered how King Robert Baratheon, her children's grandfather had been fatally wounded by a boar while he'd been out hunting years ago. The thrill of the hunt was definitely in her son's blood, as was a taste for killing. It worried her, but she was also proud because her sons were both gifted warriors and the North needed that.

Mira, their eldest daughter, sat properly like a lady as she ate her food and rolled her eyes at her siblings. She always held herself with poise, and reminded Sansa of herself. She believed her daughter was meant for things beyond Winterfell.

When her children proceeded to play with their food rather than eat it, Sansa decided it was time for bed.

"Off you go. Talia, help Ryon get ready for bed."

"Come on, you." Talia ushered her younger brother toward his room as the other Stark children followed suit.

Sansa and Gendry retired to their chambers for the evening and began to undress. Sansa slipped into a nightgown and climbed into bed beside Gendry, who had opted for loose pants and no shirt, his strong arms tucked behind his head.

"I think you should take Mira with you to King's Landing," Sansa said, and he looked at her in shock.

"What for?" he inquired, his dark brows knit together in curiosity.

"She needs to learn the ways of a Southern court. Like I did at her age." Sansa smiled at the memory of herself in King's Landing, dressed in the fancy dresses, her long red hair done in the elegant braids of the south. Even though she had lived in fear of the Lannisters, she couldn't help but admire Cersei. "Perhaps she'll even meet a Lord and marry."

Gendry huffed. "She's too young."

"So was I. But it was necessary. It made me appreciate where I come from. Besides, it might be nice for her to better get to know that side of her family."

Gendry hesitated, seeming to debate over the matter. He didn't like the idea of his daughter so far away in King's Landing, but Sansa had a point. She had a right to get to know her family.

"Very well, you should send a raven," he gave in.

"But Gendry, be sure and take your most trusted soldiers with you," said Sansa, turning to rest her cheek against his bare chest. "The roads can be perilous with hill tribes and what not…" _and rival houses_ , she thought but didn't say aloud. "And keep her safe."

"Of course I'll keep her-"

"-And," Sansa reached up to place a finger against his lips. "Be sure you return to me in one piece. As quick as you can."

Gendry looked at her and his dark eyes softened. He planted a warm kiss to her forehead. "I will"

….

King's Landing

Daenerys tossed and turned that night, her sleep disturbed with nightmares.

 _Fire, she could see fire. Everywhere. From Drogon, maybe? But it wasn't just her enemies that seemed to be in flames, but the entire city of King's Landing seemed to be on fire. How could this be? Screams could be heard all around. Darkness. So much darkness...and fear. Fear was so strong it left a stench in the air. Blood. Blood covered the streets. Bodies everywhere._

 _The image of King's Landing faded and melted into another image, this one seemed to be the countryside but it was so dark and hard to see. Large shadows loomed overhead, and the sky lit with flames. Dragons? Not her dragons, though. These dragons Daenerys had never seen before. They seemed bigger, deadlier. Their screeches rang through the dark night, their red hot flames burning everything in sight to the ground. No...no! What is this? Is this...the future? The past maybe?_

Daenerys woke with a jolt, her chest heaving and drenched in sweat. Jon slept soundly next to her, looking peaceful as he was probably having more pleasant dreams that the horrific one she just had. Not wanting to wake him, she quietly climbed out of bed and wrapped a white silk robe around herself. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep after that. She needed to find Melisandre and seek her wisdom as to what the dream could possibly mean. Daenerys was sure it meant _something._ It seemed prophetic, much like the one she had years ago in the House of the Undying.

She grabbed a torch and stepped out into the quiet castle halls. Everyone else slept, safe in their beds while Daenerys tiptoed through the castle, her mind spinning. She couldn't seem to shake the fear from her nightmare.

She found Melisandre's chambers and raised her hand to knock, thinking of an apology for waking the red priestess when the door suddenly opened before she could. Melisandre stood before Dany, fully dressed and her bed behind her didn't look slept in. Did the red woman ever sleep?

"Your Grace, I was expecting you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

King's Landing

Daenerys couldn't shake the feeling of dread as she entered Melisandre's chambers, wrapping her robe more tightly around her body as if to shield herself from whatever is about to come. Melisandre crosses the room with grace and poures two goblets of wine. She offers one to Daenerys, who shakes her head.

"After this, you will need to drink, my Queen." Melisandre continues to hold the goblet under Dany's nose and Dany's eyes widen, the tendrils of fear continuing to curl around her insides. She accepts the goblet in silence and watches as the red priestess takes a seat across from her.

"Now, tell me what troubles the Queen?" Melisandre focuses her solemn blue gaze on Daenerys.

Daenerys hesitates a moment, then lets out a shaky sigh as she looks down into the depths of the sweet dornish wine. "I had the most...peculiar dream...well, actually it was a nightmare. I haven't had anything like it in years."

"Go on.."

Daenerys shivered as she began to recount the contents of her prophetic dream. Melisandre listened with heightened focus, her face impossible to read. Her eyes seemed to smolder like coals as Daenerys spoke. Who knew what thoughts and mysteries flew around in that woman's head?

"Tell me the meaning of this," Daenerys demanded quietly once she finished. "Tell me...was it the future I saw in my dream?"

It was a long moment before Melisandre spoke. She took a long sip of wine and stared into the fire hearth. "It is as I feared, you Grace." She spoke so quietly Daenerys had to lean in to hear her.

"What?" Daenerys pressed.

Melisandre took another sip of wine and set her goblet down on the table. She met Dany's desperate gaze and a shiver seemed to pass through the red woman. Daenerys watched with wide eyes as Melisandre's head suddenly jerked back, her posture rigid in the chair.

Daenerys would've been afraid had she not seen Melisandre do this before. She was having one of her visions, a direct message from the Lord of Light himself. Daenerys thought she could hear whispers, and felt a chilling presence in the room. Were the dead speaking to her? What were they saying?

Daenerys kept her gaze on Melisandre, her fingers grasping the goblet so tight she thought they were going numb. Finally, Melisandre seemed to snap out of it. She slowly lifted her head up and her eyes were a blood red and glowed with the Lord of Light's power.

"R'hllos has spoken to me," she said cryptically. "I have seen what is to come, and it is a darkness so terrible, possibly worse than even the night king himself."

Daenerys thought she felt her heart stop at the priestess's words. What could possibly be worse than the night king and his army of thousands of undead come to feed on the souls of the living?

"We have enemies everywhere, your grace," Melisandre continued. "They cry out for your blood and the blood of your family."

"What enemies? Where?" Daenerys demanded, fear mingling with anger now. Was Melisandre trying to tell her there were those planning to revolt? To steal her crown and betray her? Was she headed toward the same fate as her ancestors?

"I know not, my queen. But you must be weary. The night is dark, and full of terrors. Trust no one except your kin. For there is an even darker threat coming for us all, as has been ordained since the beginning of time. God of beasts himself will return to this world and consume it whole. And only blood of your blood will be able to save us from it."

Daenerys stared at her, her mind churning. God of beasts? Was there such a thing? None of this made any sense...she needed more answers.

"I..I don't understand." Daenerys slowly shook her head. "God of Beasts?"

"That is all I can tell you." Melisandre's eyes returned to their normal blue, and she reached for her goblet. "The rest you must find for yourself."

"But the prophecy you spoke of when I gave my daughter away years ago, does that have anything to do with this?"

Melisandre took another sip of wine and Daenerys finally felt inclined to drink as well. She let the warm, sweet liquid fill her mouth and soothe her cold inner core.

"Your daughter has an important role to play in what is to come, yes," Melisandre finally answered. "As do all your children. True Targaryens born of fire and ice, as was always ordained. But we must all be prepared for what is to come. This will be God's final trial before mankind can be truly safe. And I fear for our survival."

….

Essos-Island of Naath

Across the Narrow Sea in a foreign land less traveled, an isolated island lies to the south of Valyria. An island inhabited only be women, as the men were either killed or driven away years ago, under the leadership of Queen Hestia, who led the rebellion in what was known as the Goddesses Rebellion against the male slavers.

Missandei remembered a time when slavery and oppression was prominent, and remembered the exact moment she had been taken from her home and traded to slavers in Astapor. She also remembered when Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons had come and freed her from her chains. She had sailed with her queen to Westeros and never looked back.

Yet here she was, at the place of her birth. To see it liberated and flourishing. Though she was happy to be home, there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't miss Daenerys and the others-even Tyrion. She smiled at the memory of the half man. He was such an interesting human specimen.

Her heart tugged when she thought of Grey Worm, her beloved unsullied warrior, who gave his life in the battle against the undead. She would never forget him, and deep pit of sadness was still embedded in her heart even now. But at least she had one piece of familiarity of the life she'd left behind in Westeros with Daenerys-a piece of the queen herself.

In the form of the beautiful silver haired goddess, whose beauty almost surpassed that of her mother. Rhayana Targaryen was the only thing Missandei had left of the dragon queen, and she would continue her promise to keep the girl safe.

Not that she needed saving. The young Targaryen had grown into a strong and capable warrior and had had played an important part in fighting for Queen Hestia's ambition to free Naath from the slavers. There wasn't a man alive, or a woman for that matter, that could rival the strength and skill of Rhayana.

Missandei watched as the young warrior goddess trained with her sisters. Watched as she wielded her spear with such expertise and felt her heart swell with pride. The girl was like a daughter to her.

She wondered if Daenerys would ever get the chance to be reunited with her daughter? She did know one thing: if the dragon queen could see her now, she would be every bit as proud.

…..

King's Landing-Great Hall

Lord Tyrion swished his wine around in his goblet before taking a sip, staring over the brim at his drinking companion, Lord Varys. Varys remembered a time when he hadn't been much of a drinker, but he had seen things over his long life that had driven him to the wine.

"I miss women," Tyrion sighed wistfully, setting his goblet down with a clang.

Varys raised his brows in amusement. "So what is stopping you from indulging?"

"Well, we both know what is stopping _you_ from indulging, my dear friend," Tyrion chuckles, and Varys wonders if the imp is drunk. Knowing him, probably so. "But as for me, I gave up women the second my beloved succumbed to the evil that is childbirth."

"A curious evil, indeed," Varys said thoughtfully. "How the most natural thing in the world can also be the most terrible."

Tyrion took another deep gulp as the painful memory swept over him. He had finally found love again after thinking he never would when he'd killed his former lover, Shae in his father's bed. But alas, he had, and the second he let his guard down and allowed himself to be happy it was ripped away from him.

"Life is a cruel joke," Tyrion said, wiping his mouth. "As my dear sister once told me, I am the biggest joke of all. My wife meeting the same end my mother did when she birthed me into this wretched world."

"I daresay you've had too much wine," Lord Varys sighed, sitting back in his chair, hands resting in his lap as he surveyed the imp. "You never speak of your mother, or Cersei for that matter."

"Ah, you know what they say. Sober minds are drunk thoughts." Tyrion frowned in confusion. "Or is it the other way round? Gods, I need to stop drinking."

It was true, Tyrion didn't like to think of his mother or sister, but every now and then the memory would creep its way back to him. Especially his cruel sister. Cersei had been vile, yes, but she was still his flesh and blood. And even though he'd never admit it to anyone, there had always been part of him that had been searching for some redeemable quality in Cersei. But he had found none. And she had died as she lived. In a cruel and vicious manner. At the hands of whom, Tyrion still does not know. By some assassin? Euron Greyjoy, perhaps? Either way, the world was a better place without her in it and better now with Daenerys ruling.

"Queen Daenerys won't be happy to see her hand wasting away like this," Varys told him.

"I'm not wasting away," Tyrion argued. "I am simply splurging. Every man is entitled to that once in awhile. Besides, I am still perfectly capable of handling business. So, let's get to it, then."

Varys let the subject go for the time being and started sorting through the scrolls sent from all across the kingdoms.

"Let's see...the Dornish demand we lower their taxes."

"Ha! There's a joke. The Dornish making demands of the crown that gracefully granted them their freedom and independence from the Realm!" Tyrion snatched the scroll from Varys's fingertips and quickly read over it. "Daenerys will not hear of this."

"And why shouldn't she?" Varys inquired. "This agreement to pay taxes is the only thing keeping the peace between us. The queen does not wish to bring war to our doorstep."

"But this is no small request!" Tyrion argued. "Every kingdom must pay taxes, the same taxes. If we start showing special treatment now the other kingdoms may expect the same as well. And before you know it, the crown starts losing money. As master of coin let me remind you, that you need money to rule a kingdom."

After Daenerys had managed to claim the iron throne all but one kingdom was willing to swear allegiance. The Dornish have always been an independant people, even when Aegon the Conqueror had unified the seven kingdoms. Not even the mighty Targaryen himself could bend the Dornish to his sword and the only way to reel them in was through marriage. Dorne had the second largest army in all of Westeros, an army of skillful fighters. Not even Daenerys wished to risk the lives of her people by going to a war she knew would be long and bloody. So she had been willing to grant the Dornish their freedom so long as they were willing to pay taxes to the Realm.

But now, years later, the people of Dorne seemed to be growing bold. What if they decided to revolt and raid? What then?

"If we do not wish to bring the enemies to our doors, we must do what we can to keep them satisfied," Varys said, reaching for his goblet.

"They're not our enemies, _yet."_ Tyrion pointed out, running a hand through his greying locks. He eyed the pile of scrolls that Varys continued to sift through. "What else?"

"News of safe travels of Lady Ophelia…"

"Such a beauty," Tyrion interrupted with a wistful look. "If Prince Eddard is not satisfied with his mother's choice…" He took a sip of wine to avoid finishing his sentence, but Varys could see the grin on his face. Honestly, one moment he talks of giving up women, and the next he is thinking of them again?

"You are a whirlpool of uncertainty, Lord Tyrion."

"That I am not. I said I was giving up women. I never said I couldn't think of them."

Varys fought and eye roll and proceeded to the next scroll. "Ah, Lord Gendry of Winterfell brings news of his journey for King's Landing, with equipment for the army. And that's not all he's bringing."

"Yes?" Tyrion was curious.

"It is Lady Sansa's wish for her eldest daughter Mira to come to King's Landing and learn the ways of a high court."

Tyrion felt warm inside when he thought of Sansa, and remembered her as a delicate little thing thrown to the lions in King's Landing when her father came to serve as then King Robert's hand. His marriage to her had been brief, as cruelly arranged by his father Tywin in the days of his scheming. Tyrion had always respected Sansa, almost like a sister.

"The King will be pleased to hear of this," Tyrion said. "I suspect he misses his family far away in the North. It'll be good for him to have a piece of familiarity right here in his halls."

Varys nodded his agreement. It was true that their king had given up a great deal by choosing to live miles away in King's Landing. He could have chosen to reside in the North as Warden, as Queen Daenerys would've allowed, but Jon knew his place was with the queen. And though everyone knew it was Jon's legal birthright to sit on the iron throne, the humble warrior never wanted it. He continued to believe Daenerys was meant to lead them, and he was happy to accept his place as king at her side, giving most of the power to her. But the people of Westeros still showed Jon the utmost respect of a king, because that's what he was whether he wanted to be or not. He was Aegon Targaryen.

….

Winterfell

Mira was practically tingling with excitement as she packed her things in her chambers, preparing to ride with her father to King's Landing. She carefully packed the small gifts Ethan and Talia had given her to remember them when she was far away south, so she could have some piece of home.

A book of poems from Talia, and a wooden carving of a direwolf from Ethan. She smiled as she packed them away. She wondered what she would find in King's Landing. She had been so excited when her mother told her she would be going. She couldn't wait to learn the ways of high court and how to be a proper lady, and maybe even find a high lord to marry! Oh how she had always dreamed of marrying a handsome lord. She'd dreamed of twirling around in gowns of silk and dancing the nights away at balls in the company of the most noble people in Westeros. But more importantly, she was looking forward to meeting that side of her family.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Mira called as she turned to pack her favorite dress her mother had made for her.

Sansa herself entered, and Mira turned to offer her mother a smile. Sansa was happy for her daughter to have this opportunity, but sad to see her go as well. But she felt it necessary.

"All packed?" Sansa inquired.

"Almost." Mira swept around her room, grabbing things here and there as Sansa watched her with a soft smile. "Mother, do you think I'll meet a prince from a distant land?"

"Possibly. People from all over Westeros and Essos alike travel to King's Landing to break bread with the king and queen, so it is possible you could meet a foreign prince, yes."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" a dreamy look came across Mira's face. "And maybe one day, I'll be queen of a great nation."

Sansa crossed the room and took her daughter's hands in her own. "My darling, you will be anyone you wish. And it won't be by anyone's doing but yours. When you go to King's Landing, it isn't a vacation. It is a learning experience."

"Mother, I know," Mira groaned with impatience.

"And you will mind yourself and stay out trouble. And you will do as her highness asks of you."

"Yes, mother."

Sansa wasn't sure Mira fully understood what was expected of her, but she would learn soon enough. She leaned down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "I love you. And I'll miss you terribly."

"I'll miss you too. Who will help you keep father in line?" Mira joked, and the two laughed.

"You'll have to keep him in line on the road. Look out for him, will you?"

"Of course."

"Come here."

Sansa pulled her daughter into a tight hug and sent a prayer to the gods to keep her and Gendry safe on the long way to King's Landing.

Out in the courtyard, Sansa wrapped her cloak tighter around her against the wind. Even with the arrival of spring, the cold never truly is gone from the North.

Gendry loaded the last of the equipment onto the wagon and turned to Sansa. There was nothing but love in his eyes as he approached her and took her into his arms.

"I'll return to you as soon as I can," he promised.

"You'd better," Sansa whispered before he kissed her. It was sweet and lingering, and over too soon. "Please be careful."

"Always am."

Gendry gave her hands a final squeeze and turned to climb into the wagon. A group of Gendry's most trusted soldiers positioned themselves on either side of the wagon, their horses neighing and kicking up dirt. As the wagon started to pull away, Mira poked her head out and waved to Sansa. Sansa waved back, feeling tears well up as she watched them go.

….

The Bannered Mare

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater entered the dim tavern, looking for a stiff drink at his favorite hole in town. The innkeeper, Aggie, was a real beauty and had an eye for Bronn. She always gave him a handsome discount.

The woman behind the counter was yellow of hair, with a bosom even the Gods themselves would drop their britches for. If Bronn wasn't a high lord and already spoken for, he would've married her in a pinch. Aggie nearly dropped the mug she was cleaning when Bronn walked in, and he could almost smell her ovaries going wild as she eyed him, her hand going to her blond hair to tousle it into place. She angled a red lipped smile at him as he slid onto the wooden bar stool.

"Evening, Aggie." He gave her his best lady killer grin and tossed a coin on the counter. "My usual, sweetness."

He watched as she poured his favorite ale, a dark Belgium into the tall mug and tapped his fingers impatiently. She leaned over the counter in an exaggerated manner and made sure he got a generous glimpse of her cleavage as she set his drink down. Gods, this woman was obvious. Bronn was sure if he wanted to, he could fuck her right here on the counter in front of watching eyes, but he didn't much care for easy conquests.

If the night king had stood there and let them kill him, what would've been the fun in that? Ah, the night king...now that had been a war of the ages.

Bronn lifted the mug to his lips and let his eyes wander around the tavern as he reflected on the bloody memory. He had been a sell sword for most of his life, slaughtering his enemies for the right amount of coin. _Human_ enemies. But Gods there had been nothing like driving steel through a heart that wasn't beating, to see the burning flesh and feel the adrenalin of pure fear of not living to see the sunrise. It had been a long, dark time for all of Westeros. After the war, Jon Snow had commanded the wall to be reconstructed in case history decided to repeat itself.

But in twenty five years, no one had hurt the faintest whisper of the dead, or anything beyond the wall for that matter. Most people had started to believe that the threat beyond the wall had truly passed, and so there'd been no need of the Night's Watch. Old Castle Black sat unoccupied far North, with nothing but rumors of the ghosts of the men that died there to keep it company.

But Bronn planned to see for himself. He planned to take the cold trek to the Wall as he had never set foot there, and soak in the history of it. He was restless, and ached for an adventure.

"I close at dawn," Aggie's husky voice broke into his thoughts. "If you stick around…"

"I'm an honorable man, Aggie," Bronn cut her off, almost laughing at himself. He took a sip of ale to hide his grin. Sell swords never lived by honor, and just because he had chosen to settle down and live in a castle, didn't mean he didn't still have the heart of a nomad.

Aggie's pretty face turned into a pout as she picked up the dirty rag she'd been cleaning with. "If you change your mind…"

"I know where you'll be." Bronn winked at her.

The rusted doors burst open with a loud creak and all eyes turned toward the front of the inn. A few soldiers made their entrance, laughing and talking loudly and seemingly already drunk. Bronn could tell by their armor and the crest of two stone tours that gleamed on their breastplates, that they were Freys. He inwardly groaned. He hated the fucking Freys, as most did. They were a loud and rowdy bunch, and too proud for their own good. How they had survived all these years was beyond Bronn.

The Frey soldiers settled into a booth in the corner, and Aggie's entire demeanor changed. A scowl fell across her face, and it was clear that she didn't approve of her latest customers.

"You want me to run them out?" Bronn asked, eyeing them as he took another sip of his ale.

"Nonsense." Aggie came from around the counter. "Business is business. Though they disgust me, they pay well."

Bronn grunted as he finished off the last of his ale and prepared to leave, not wanting to be in the same vicinity of the vile men, when bits of the conversation drifted to him, making him freeze on the bar stool.

"...the Stark girl…"

Bronn sat still with his back to them, his head angled slightly in their direction so he could listen to their conversation.

"Where do you suppose the little bitch is?" one of them said with a slight slur.

"Who knows? But she ain't little no more. I bet she's a right beauty now, that one. Maybe when we find her we can have some fun with her first before killing the cunt."

"Aye, she'll get what's coming to her for what she did to our house, our fucking ancestors!"

"Good thing old Ludd had been out hunting the night she came and poisoned our house!"

Bronn let out a harsh chuckle that was meant for them to hear. "You fucking drunken idiots."

That shut their traps. They Frey soldiers stopped talking and looked directly at Bronn.

The one who had been talking about Arya, an ugly thing with large front teeth glowered at Bronn. "What did you just say?"

"You heard what I said, less your ears don't work." Bronn got up from his stool and turned to face them. "You'll never have the Stark girl, she's long gone. No one's seen or heard from her in years. Probably already dead if I tell you true."

"Nah, she not dead," the larger of the Frey soldiers spoke with certainty, his eyes gleaming. "She's out there somewhere, hiding. Last I heard, she was in Braavos."

"Where'd you hear this?"

"Doesn't matter where I heard it, I heard it."

"Then why you sitting in here, stinking up the place? Go and find her then. Or you scared of a woman?"

"You fucking-" they got to their feet, hands going to their weapons, but Bronn was quicker.

"And you should be, you stupid sons of whores," Bronn taunted, his sword under the throat of the ugly one. "She almost killed your entire house, hell she's killed many men not short of the likes of you. And you want to know what I think?" Bronn leaned in close and whispered, "I think she even killed the Lannister bitch we used to call Queen."

He watched their eyes widen and scowled with satisfaction. "A man shouldn't talk action if he ain't going to _take_ action. Arya Stark would cut off your balls and feed them to her direwolf if she ever laid eyes on you."

They Frey soldiers glared at Bronn, and he could tell they were itching to kill him right here. He dared them to try. It'd been a while, and he was itching for a fight.

"We'll kill that Stark girl," the larger one growled. "And then we'll come for you."

"You can try. I'm not an enemy you want. And I'm sure our King will be pleased to know your plans to kill his sister."

The men laughed, and one of them spit at Bronn's feet. "He ain't our fucking king, and his silver haired bitch ain't our queen."

"Yet you bent the knee along with everyone else with half a mind."

"Aye. For now."

Bronn lowered his sword, already grown bored with this interaction. "I think you three ought to be leaving. Make sure and tip lovely Aggie on the way out."

They glared at him a moment longer, and Bronn could tell they were trying to decide if a fight was worth it and the odds of winning. They seemed to decide against it, and shoved off past Bronn toward the Tavern doors.

Bronn watched them go, grinning with mirth. He thinks perhaps it's time to pay his good friend at Casterly Rock a visit.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Hey guys! Hope you're all enjoying the story and continue to tune in. We finally catch up with some characters I'm sure you've been wondering about, plus trouble toward the end. Enjoy:)**

Chapter 3

Essos-Braavos

It was dark in the prison, with nothing but the faint light from the wall torches to cast weak firelight on the filthy stone walls. Their flames flickered and seemed to dance, and Arya Stark was almost mesmerized by them. Gods, it was cold in this lonely chamber. She could almost feel the icy breath of the ghosts of the prisoners that rotted away and turned to dust in their cells. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Arya was here in this wretched place for one reason only. She had a mission, and she planned to fulfill it quickly and be in and out before anyone noticed her.

She dared to peek around the dark corridor and quickly withdrew her head when she saw the tall shadow of a man accompanied by heavy footsteps and a low whistle. She heard the sound of the prison guard's armor clanking with his every step while she herself made no noise, her body perfectly blended with the darkness. She was nothing but a shadow.

As he drew closer Arya slid out her valyrian steel dagger. The lethal weapon had served her well over the years ever since her brother Bran gave it to her in the Godswood. The memory of her brother almost made her forget what she came here to do. Almost.

She began to count to herself.

 _One…_

 _Clank. Clank. Whistle._

 _Two.._

 _Clank. Clank. Whistle._

 _Three!_

As quick and quiet as a snake, Arya's arm sprang out and grabbed the guard around the neck. He was big and strong but he had no chance to struggle before his life was over. Arya's dagger had already opened his throat, his warm blood staining her cold hand. She gently lowered his body to the floor and knelt over him.

Arya tilted her head to one side as she studied the face of the man she just killed. A handsome one. Too bad…

"I'll be needing your face," Arya whispered, and her voice was emotionless. Detached. The way a faceless man was supposed to be.

….

Wearing the guard's face Arya took on his appearance, and was able to navigate her way through the prison undetected. She came across another guard with brilliant red hair and the lad nodded to her.

"You the relief?" he inquired.

"Aye." Arya nodded.

"Good. I've been fighting to stay awake. Good night."

Arya said nothing as the red headed guard shuffled past her. She peered into the cell he had been standing in front of and saw her target sleeping on a filthy cot, his arm slung across his face as he snored.

Delvin Mallory. Accused of raping and murdering five young women in a small village outside of Astapor. The name she had been given. And she without question would collect his soul for the Red God to devour. A faceless man asked no questions. The Many-Faced God demanded the souls of the damned and he would have them.

Arya unhooked the keys from the guard's belt and moved to unlock the cell as quietly as she could. Not that she had to worry about waking Delvin. He was completely out of it as she crept toward him. The poor man had no idea of his fate. She stood over him and slowly raised her dagger.

"Valar Morghulis," Arya whispered before bringing the dagger down into the prisoner's heart. His eyes sprung open only for a split second and she watched the life fade from them as blood welled up in his mouth.

Once he was dead Arya carefully cleaned her blade and sent a silent prayer to the Red God to collect the soul of the man she'd just murdered.

…

As Arya rode her horse through the night as herself again, she glanced up at the indigo sky. The stars gleamed and the wind gently teased her dark hair around her face. She hated to kill on a beautiful night like this one, but it wasn't for her to choose when to do so. The breeze was warm and smelled of springtime, and it lulled her into thoughts of her past.

Years ago, when death itself swept across the lands of Westeros she never thought any of them would live to see the dawn. As soon as she'd seen a wight for the first time all her worst fears suddenly were realized, and Arya Stark had learned to fear nothing in her brief time with the Faceless Men in Braavos. But seeing thousands of white walkers with an undead dragon no less, had surely scared her.

When Jon Snow had ordered her to stay away from the fighting she'd argued with him. Sure she had been afraid, but fear seemed to only feed the adrenaline, and she absolutely refused to cower with the women and children while many died. That was never who Arya was. So she managed to convince him to let her fight. And she would've died had it not been for someone she despised with passion. The Hound.

Even now the thought of him made fury burn in her heart. She didn't hate him for the wrongs he committed at that moment, she hated him for saving her. She hated him for making it hard to hate him when he threw her on his horse and rode off with her away from the battle.

" _Why did you save me?" she had demanded furiously._

" _That battle is no place for you, Arya Stark," he had responded, his voice husky. "And it ain't no place for me. You and I both have unfinished business in King's Landing."_

Arya remembered the confusion that had consumed her, and her anger. How could the stupid mongrel be thinking about King's Landing when there were white walkers trying to kill them all?

" _Are you daft?" Arya had been incredulous. "There's no time for that! We need to go back now!"_

" _If you die tonight you won't ever get your revenge," Clegane had insisted, his voice still that irritating calm. "You're not a knight, girl. You're a killer. Never forget who you are."_

Arya had realized the truth in his words even though she didn't want to, even though every inch of her being longed to go back and help those she loved battle the dead. But it was not her fight, and it never was. When she left the faceless men she knew she would never be the same and she knew that no one else would understand her. But when she had returned to Westeros she had one goal.

To kill the Queen.

Arya would never have forgiven herself if she had forsaken the opportunity for the ultimate revenge. The evil snake who was part of the reason for her brother Bran's fall, who had birthed a vile creature like Joffrey which had led to the death of her father.

She couldn't deny the kill had been satisfying. She started with poison, then allowed Nymeria to finish her off. Watched as the expression on her face had been pure terror as the direwolf ripped and tore into her flesh. A death fit for the queen she was.

After the deed had been done and the Hound had gotten his revenge on his brother, the Mountain, the two went their separate ways. Arya heard that he had died in the battle against Euron Greyjoy for the Iron Throne. The sneaky scum had swooped in to take it for himself after the death of Cersei. But they had been victorious, and Daenerys Targaryen ruled Westeros now.

Arya wasn't sure how she felt about that. She knew the truth of Jon's parentage and knew he was the rightful heir. But she also knew Jon Snow and the man he was. He never wanted to be King in the North much less King of the Seven Kingdoms. If there was anyone she missed most from her old life it was him.

But Arya was where she belonged. She would give her life to the Red God and pay her debt until her last breath.

…

Westeros-Casterly Rock

It was nightfall by the time the glorious white castle atop the large salt rock came into view. The waves licked the sides of Bronn's rowboat as he came ashore. He could see the dark outlines of the archers at the fortress. There was the blast of a horn to signal his arrival.

As Bronn approached the castle the gates opened and two knights on white horses rode out to meet him.

"My Lord.." one of them greeted him with respect.

"Don't call me that," Bronn cringed.

The two knights exchanged glances. "My apologies, Ser. Are you here to see Lord Lannister?"

"Well I'm sure as fuck not here to see _you,"_ Bronn chuckled. "Take me to my one-handed friend, he knows I'm coming."

"As you wish."

…..

The two knights led Bronn into the main hall where a long table still contained what remained of dinner. Two cupbearers bustled around it, clearing the table with quick nods to Bronn and the knights as they did so.

"Lance, go and fetch Lord Lannister," one of the knights ordered a mousy looking lad. "Tell him he has company."

"Aye, and leave the bread and wine," Bronn added as one of the servants was about to grab the plate of sourdough. "I've travelled a long way and I'm hungry as a damn mare."

"Yes, my-" he stopped short at the look on Bronn's face and cleared his throat.

Bronn sat down with a deep sigh and rested his tired limbs atop the table. He reached forward to pluck a grape off the silver platter and tossed it in his mouth. The man servant rushed to pour him some wine with a deep nod of respect. Twenty some odd years and Bronn still wasn't used to be treating like some stuffy lord. When the war had been over, Daenerys had gracefully granted him the abandoned castle of House Tyrell to populate with his own blood and name. And she made him a lord. He never wanted the honor, but he accepted it all the same. One learned quickly not to defy the Mother of Dragons.

The doors to the main hall swung open and in strode Jaime Lannister. The years had aged him, and his once golden hair had streaks of grey washed in with the golden locks. His face was still youthful with few age lines and he still carried himself with all the strength and poise he always had. The gold of his false hand caught the firelight and gleamed magnificently.

"That thing still weighing you down?" Bronn joked, tearing his bread with hungry fingers.

Jaime raised his golden hand with his signature crooked grin. "I've had years to grow used to it."

Bronn chuckled as Jaime took a seat at the head of the table.

"So, you seemed to have already made yourself comfortable at my table." Jaime gestured his good hand. "Helping yourself to my food."

"Aye, you were finished with it." Bronn followed a large bite of bread with a hearty gulp of wine.

Jaime watched him with a look of amusement. "Bronn, my old friend. What brings you to Casterly Rock?"

"Boredom." Bronn finished off his wine in one gulp and held his goblet out to the servant to refill. "I grow restless. What do you people do all day, in big castles?"

"I thought you wanted to live like the 'fancy folks," Jaime performed the finger quotes with his good hand. "As you call it. Ever since I've known you all you've spoke of is gold, castles, and women."

"Aye, and now I have all three." Bronn raised his goblet to his lips once more.

"And Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is never satisfied, I see. Lance," Jaime snapped at his scrawny servant. "Wine." Jaime returned his gaze to Bronn. "What more could you ask for?"

"Adventure." Bronn spread his hands in an exaggerated manner to accentuate his point. "I plan to go to the Wall, I do."

Jaime arched his brows. "Oh? And what one earth for? There's nothing there but a musty old castle and a block of ice."

Bronn shrugged. "Never been there. Maybe I'll find...something." Bronn wasn't exactly sure what it was he was looking for, he just knew he had always wanted to see the infamous ice structure.

Jaime stared at him skeptically for a moment, then raised his goblet to his lips as he shook his head.

"If you wish to take the long trek and freeze your balls off, be my guest," he said. "I'll be in my warm castle laughing."

"You can laugh." Bronn cast a malicious grin at his friend. "I've been laughing at you since I met you."

Jaime pretended to glare at him but after a moment the two men had to laugh as they drank their wine and began to recount what they've been up to. Before their alliance had been for the coin, as Bronn had been a sellsword to the highest payer. But years of war had bonded them and they had become the closest thing to friends Bronn would allow himself to admit.

"Oh, almost forgot," Bronn said a few cups of wine later. "I came across a few Frey scum at the Bannered Mare the other night. They were talking about murdering the Stark girl."

Jaime frowned. "You mean Arya Stark?"

"Aye, the one and only. I told them how fucking stupid they sounded."

Jaime scratched at his beard, still with that frown on his face. "No one has seen Arya in years."

"That's what I told them. I also told them she'd cut their balls of if she ever saw 'em." Bronn's tone was dismissive.

"Jon should know of this," Jaime said solemnly.

Bronn shrugged. "Suppose he should. But the girl can look after herself. They'll never find her and even if they do...well, Gods pity them."

"Still...the Freys and the Starks have hated each other for decades," Jaime pointed out. "Jon needs to be warned in case a war breaks out."

"Tell him if you will, I'm staying out of it." Bronn picked his teeth with a finger. "For now, anyway. Let me know if a war does break out, will ya? Wouldn't want to miss the chance to spill some Frey blood."

Jaime shook his head at him, but grinned nonetheless. It wasn't war he wanted, but if it came to it he wouldn't mind fighting by Bronn's side again. It had been quite a while.

….

King's Landing

Daenerys hadn't been able to sleep since her nightmare. She was afraid if she let her eyes close and allow herself a deep enough sleep then she would see the darkness, the fire, the blood. What could possibly be the future for her people. Melisandre's interpretation had been cryptic and vague at best, and Daenerys was no closer to deciphering the prophecy.

God of Beasts. Horrific images flooded her mind of this God reigning fire on them all. Ripping people limb from limb in its jaws. She hadn't been able to think of anything else. Jon knew her well and could tell something was bothering her, but when it became clear she didn't want to talk about it he didn't press. Daenerys just couldn't bring herself to worry him over this right now, not when she didn't have enough answers. For all she knew, this was another of Melisandre's ravings. But as much as she wanted to believe that, she knew that wasn't the case.

Her feet led her to Maester Tarly's study. Jon's good and dear friend Samwell was well read and intelligent. He was bound to know something.

She raised her hand to knock softly.

"Enter," his tired voice called from behind the oak door.

Daenerys walked in to see Sam sitting behind his table, about a dozen large tomes splayed out before him. His study appeared to be cluttered and messy, and Daenerys almost choked on the dust.

Sam glanced up at her and snapped to attention at once, jumping up and straightening his robes. "Your Grace!" he fumbled, moving around the table to bow to her. "I apologize for the mess. I instructed the servants not to disturb me.."

"That's quite alright, Sam," Daenerys smiled warmly at him. "Please sit down. No need for pleasantries."

Sam obeyed.

Daenerys sat down across from him and he eyed her curiously. "Do what do I owe the honor, your Grace?"

"I had a dream the other night..." Daenerys launched into the details of her dream, including Melisandre's vision and prophecy. When she finished she was nearly breathless from talking and Sam sat there, scratching his head, a peculiar look on his face.

"Well, that's quite a tale," he said finally. "God of Beasts, you say? Hmm, I wonder…"

"What do you wonder?" Daenerys was desperate for answers.

"I seem to remember reading about that once." Sam began digging through his many books, flipping through pages. His eyes lit up when he seemed to find what he was looking for. "Ah!"

Daenerys waited at the edge of her seat as Sam read, his eyes flicking back and forth. A shadow fell across his face as he slowly looked up at the dragon queen.

"What is it, Sam?" she whispered, a wave of anxiety sweeping through her.

"I don't know how to tell you this…"

"Your queen demands you to try!"

Sam hesitated and swallowed. "This..God of Beasts you speak of..is, well...it's a dragon. And not just any dragon. _The_ dragon." His eyes glanced back down to the book and Daenerys struggled to keep herself from falling apart. "Created by the Lord of Light himself to aide him in his war against the other gods many centuries ago. The dragon's name is Alduin, and is known as the Father of Dragons."

"As in...he created them?" Daenerys was in awe.

"Appears so. Also says here that Alduin rebelled against his maker and was cast down by the Lord of Light to be a servant of man. Um, your family."

Daenerys was still as ice as she listened.

"When Old Valyria still stood, it was home to the dragons and their masters," Sam continued. "But eventually Alduin grew tired of serving his masters and hated them. He rallied the other dragons to rebel and destroy mankind. The Lord of Light regretted ever unleashing his creation into existence and sought to destroy him. So one night the skies opened up and he released his wrath onto Valyria-"

"The Doom," Daenerys cut in. She remembered learning about the mysterious catastrophe that left the homeland of her ancestors in shambles.

"Yes," Sam kept reading. "But according to legend Alduin somehow escaped the Lord of Light's grasp. Possibly through a time rift, I can't be sure of the language here...but one thing's for certain." He brought his dark eyes up to meet Dany's, and his expression was ominous. "If what Melisandre says is true, and this...God of Beasts returns to the world of the living...then gods have mercy on us all."

…..

King's Landing

Lord Tyrion made a face of pure concentration as he studied the naked woman in front of him. He tilted his head to one side.

"Turn," he instructed her.

The woman did as she was told and turned to reveal her back to him. Her long curly black hair just barely brushed the curve of her arse. Her face wasn't that pretty but she did look pretty good from behind.

"I suppose you'll do," he finally sighed. He snapped his fingers to signal her dismissal.

He reached for his goblet, just as the door to the establishment opened and Alexander Targaryen strode in. Tyrion gave him a disapproving glare. He knew Jon and Daenerys wouldn't approve of their son's secret partakings but try as he might, there was no getting through to the wayward prince.

"You know you shouldn't be here," Tyrion said sternly as the prince approached.

"And I'm not," Alexander said coolly, his eyes following the retreating figure of the newly hired whore exiting the room.

"How long do you expect me to keep your little endeavors secret?" Tyrion hissed.

The silver haired prince tossed a coin to Tyrion, who instinctively caught it with a roll of his eyes.

"As long as I please." Alexander winked and gestured toward one of the rooms. "That one with the nice arse, is she available?"

"She's new."

Alexander grinned. "Just how I like them."

Tyrion shook his head, at a loss as the prince turned to follow her. He knew if Daenerys found out what her son was doing and that Tyrion knew about it, she'd surely have his head on a spike. When he'd taken over Little Finger's establishment, this wasn't exactly what'd he signed up for.

…

The Kingsroad

The fire crackled against the logs as embers floated up to the inky black sky. Gendry huddled close to the fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth. They were already far from Winterfell but still close enough North to feel the bitter chill of the night air.

The men's chatter drifted to him as they told war stories. Mira sat next to him, listening with awe. She was as beautiful as her mother, and Gendry still couldn't believe he would be leaving her miles away in King's Landing. He remembered the day she was born, her big blue eyes staring up at him and he was in her palm ever since.

"No one had seen walkers for over a thousand years," one of Gendry's soldiers, a lanky man by the name of Embry spoke, staring into the crackling flames. "My father fought them. Lost his life in that war."

Silence fell over them as they reflected over the lives lost. Gendry shuddered at the memory of it.

A much younger Sansa cornered by at least four of the undead, her face pale as a ghost and her eyes a mirror of the fear she must've felt. Gendry had pummeled through them with his war hammer, not caring if he lived or died as long as she was safe.

"You saved Mother," Mira broke into his thoughts. He met his daughter's eyes and saw that she was looking at him with admiration. "You were so brave."

"Back then it wasn't about bravery," Gendry told her solemnly. "It was about fear. Fear which fed the drive to live."

"Shh!" Embry suddenly hissed, holding his hand up in warning.

They all looked around them, trying to see into the dark shadows of the trees. Gendry could see nothing, but he heard it. The faintest snap of a twig. An animal maybe? Or something else?

His hand went for his hammer, and he nodded a signal to his men to be cautious.

His eyes were transfixed on the wood. It was still too dark to see but he could hear a soft rustling, coming closer now. He grabbed Mira. "Stay close to me," he whispered. "And when I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"

Mira's eyes widened in fear. "What is it?"

"Just do what I say!" Gendry hissed, as another loud snap of a twig drew his attention back to the trees. He and the men got slowly to their feet, drawing their weapons. Mira cowered behind her father and he could feel her body shaking from more than just the cold. On his life he would protect her.

A large shadow finally stepped out into view and Gendry could see that it was a man. With a sword that appeared to be made of bone. Others stepped out of the trees and formed a line around them, all of them holding weapons. Gendry recognized them as the wild people that lived in seclusion at the edge of the Vale. The Hill Tribe.

And they had them surrounded.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Kingsroad

Gendry's eyes did a quick scan of the enemies as he had one hand tightly clutched around his hammer and the other holding Mira's wrist. There many of them, and his heart sunk as more slid from the shadows of the trees. They were poorly outnumbered. But he knew his men would stand their ground and fight for their last breath, and so would be. As long as Mira was safe.

"Well look what we have here," one of them, a tall man with wild dark hair and a long, scraggly beard stepped forward, a deadly sneer on his face. "Shame you have to die so far from home."

"They've got a girl with them," another one says, and Gendry's grip on his daughter tightens.

"Aye, she's a pretty one."

The circle around them gets smaller as they close in. Gendry spots a potential opening if he can take out the two on the left.

"Kill them all and take the girl," the tall one whom Gendry assumes to be their leader commands his tribe.

"NOW!" Gendry yells to his own men, and chaos erupts.

Gendry swings his hammer with surprising force and can feel the crushing impact of bone as it connects with someone's skull.

"MIRA, RUN!" Gendry screams as another enemy comes rushing at him with a battle cry.

Mira is terrified and her feet almost forget to function. She feels a sharp nudge in her side and turns to see her father's face, his eyes reflecting her own fear. Fear not for his life, but hers.

"Go!" he tells her, swinging his heavy hammer like it weighs nothing. She watches it connect with it's target and she shrieks as warm blood splatters her face. Finally, her feet get moving, and she's running. Running like she never has in her life. Her heart pounds so hard it threatens to burst from her chest and she dares not to look behind her.

Yells and clash of steel can be heard, and the blood pounds in Gendry's ears as he turns to a warrior slinging a mace at him. He narrowly avoids it with a duck and retaliates by slamming his hammer into his chest. He can hear his chest wall crack as blood spurts from his mouth, and he falls to his knees. Gendry quickly looks to see if Mira got away. Through the thick of the fighting he catches a glimpse of her dark hair and he prays to the Gods she gets as far away as possible.

He takes down another warrior, blood and sweat dripping into his eyes. But there are too many. And he's lost plenty of his men already. He watches in horror as Embry suffers a violent blow from a battle axe, nearly splitting him in two. The one wielding it, the leader, yanks the axe from Embry's torso and turns his attention to Gendry, a murderous look on his face.

Anger makes his blood boil. Embry was still a young lad, and fiercely loyal. Gendry let out a furious yell and charged for their leader. He suddenly felt something sharp graze his shoulder and he lost his footing. The wound from his shoulder burned and he could feel hot sticky blood welling up beneath his armor. He struggled to get to his feet and saw the leader with the battle axe coming straight for him, with the intent to finish him off. He closed his eyes, thinking of his family. Of Sansa. And he waited for death.

…..

The horrific sounds of battle rang in Mira's ears as she ran. She could hear the voices of many men dying, their screams piercing her heart. And all she could think was how much of a coward she was being for leaving them to die.

She slowed her pace and looked behind her. Countless bodies littered the ground, most of them belonging to her House. There was no way they were going to survive this. She desperately looked for her father, her heart thumping when finally she saw him.

He was still fighting valiantly, but she could tell he was tiring and wouldn't be able to carry on much longer. She couldn't just leave him!

The moment she made the decision she knew it was a stupid one. But before she could talk herself out of it her feet were leading her in the opposite direction, back to the battle. Possibly to her death. What could a young maiden like herself hope to do? She, who had never even seen a battle before? She did not know, but she did know she had to do _something._

Fear gripped her and all her instincts screamed at her, but she kept running. Just as she reached the clearing she skidded to a stop, narrowly missing an arrow that shot right past her. But she could see the arrow was not aimed for her. She watched in horror as her father fell to the ground, clutching at his shoulder. She turned and saw the one who fired the arrow, he was loading his bow and preparing to fire again, this time not intending to miss.

"NO!" Mira rushed forward, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she lunged at him, latching herself onto his back.

She could tell she caught him entirely by surprise as he dropped his bow and let out a startled grunt. She dug her fingernails into his face, feeling herself draw blood as the man yelled in frustration and pain and attempted to yank her off his back.

She had caused a momentary distraction between the two warriors coming to finish Gendry off. Long enough for him to get his bearings and aim a precise swing at the one nearest him. The man fell, but was still alive. With a yell of exertion, Gendry raised his hammer and brought it down over his face, watching it cave in, blood and bits of brain splattering against the ground.

His eyes searched for Mira, his chest heaving. He saw her, straddled to a man's back, clawing at his face like a wild animal as he tried to throw her off. Why had she not listened to him? Why did she come back? He knew why. She was a Stark. A wolf. And wolves didn't abandon the pack. He didn't know whether to be furious or proud.

"Gerr off me, you stupid bitch!" the man grunted, reaching behind him to grab a fistful of Mira's hair. She whimpered in pain as he yanked her from his back by the hair and dropped her to the ground, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Gendry didn't waste any time when he saw his daughter hit the ground. His bones and muscles ached, and his shoulder still stung from his wound but he mustered all he had to run to her. He didn't make it.

He felt another arrow pierce him from behind, inches from his heart. Fire burned at the wound, and agony seized him as he fell to his knees. "Mira…" he rasped, struggling to get to his feet. He felt hands grab him and yank him up.

"Hold him!" a harsh voice barked, and he traced it to the man leading them, with the axe. "Make him watch!"

 _No! No no no...please, let her go!_ He was too weak to even utter the words.

Mira screamed and kicked as hands ripped at her dress, tearing it. Men yelled raucously, goading her attacker on. Hands invaded, touched where they weren't wanted. She couldn't even see who was assaulting her because her eyes were screwed shut. All she could do was pray to the Gods. Pray that they killed her after so she wouldn't have to live with the filthy stain they were about leave on her innocence.

Suddenly she felt a heavy weight cover her body and it took a moment to realize that the body wasn't moving. There were no hands grabbing at her now. She dared to open her eyes and saw the man lying on her, his eyes open but lifeless, a trickle of blood at the corner of his twisted mouth. He was dead. She could see the dagger plunged in his back.

No one was fighting now. No one made a sound. Everyone stood, looking at something she couldn't see. She shoved the dead body off her and scurried away, shuddering. Heavy boots approached her and she looked up into strangely familiar ice blue eyes. He was tall, and handsome. He had curly black hair, and almost reminded her of her oldest brother. Rodrick. Who was this man?

He knelt down before her and offered his hand, his face strangely kind. Mira hesitated, still frozen in fear despite the odd familiarity coming from him. Had they met before?

"You don't need to be afraid of me," he assured her in a rich, deep voice.

And for some strange reason, she believed him. She slowly reached for his hand, and he helped her up, his blue eyes which were so much like her own, never leaving her face. He seemed to be just as bewildered as she, his eyes taking in her features, his brows knit together. "Who are you?" he asked, so quietly Mira wondered if he had even meant to say it aloud.

She decided to answer anyway. "M-Mira Stark."

He continued to stare at her. She was starting to feel a little uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze. Finally he spoke. "Mira Stark." He dragged her name out on his lips. "Starks of Winterfell?"

"Y-yes," she breathed.

Gendry had been watching the exchange, his whole body on edge. The two men still held him, and he knew he was too weak to fight them off now if he tried. A few of his men were still alive, but badly wounded. This man who came out of nowhere and killed Mira's attacker, may have just saved them all. But he quickly realized that despite this, the bear pelt and armor made of bone gave him away as one of them. Not just one of them, this man was their leader.

"Get away from her!" Gendry found his voice again, though it was weak.

The man's ice blue gaze fell on him, and any kindness that had been on his face vanished. He almost seemed to remember himself, and a twisted smirk spread across his lips.

"Ah!" he stepped away from Mira and began to approach Gendry. "You must be Gendry, Lord of Winterfell." He pauses in front of Gendry and studies him, his eyes glinting. "You know, I could've sworn you were a bastard once, as you folk call it. Never received a formal education like you cousin fuckers that live in your fancy castles. But you do hear things."

Gendry holds his head high, his body weak but his will as strong as ever. "I don't give a fuck about what you've heard."

His head snaps to the side as the man's fist connects with his face. Pain nearly blinds him, and he spits out a mouthful of blood. The man gets down in Gendry's face and forces him to look at him.

"You should watch your foul mouth, Crow," he warns, calling him what the freefolk call anyone outside their own. He pulls out another dagger from his belt and holds it to Gendry's mouth. "Or I shall make sure you never speak again." His eyes gleam with a pure sadism that makes Gendry's skin crawl.

"Please, don't hurt him!" Mira pleads.

The man doesn't take his eyes from Gendry, but he can tell that Mira's voice got through to him. He releases Gendry and straightens up.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced! How rude of me. I am Roric of Ash. And these are my people. And _this,"_ he makes a wide gesture around them. "Is my land."

"This is _not_ your land," Gendry retorts, and Mira wishes he would just keep quiet. Maybe this...Roric will allow them to leave with their lives.

"Oh but it is, you see. The soil you're standing on has always belonged to my people. Your kind stole it from us. And we will take it back."

"You can try."

Roric looks at Gendry like he might strike him again, and Gendry waits for the blow. But it doesn't come. Instead, Roric starts to laugh. His men laugh with him.

"The problem with you crows, is you're too fucking proud," Roric says, his face turning serious again. "That or just stupid. Either way, it'll get you killed like it has so many before you. Squabbling amongst yourselves when you could be free. No matter." Roric lets out a long sigh and turns away from him. "Let them go."

His men look at him incredulously. "Let them go? Why should we let these weasels live?"

"Because I said so," Roric turns a dangerous glare at the one dared to question him. The man holding Gendry was twice Roric's size, yet he seemed to cower beneath his gaze and vigorously nodded. Roric's eyes wander over him and fixate onto the wagon full of weapons. Gendry had almost forgotten about them. "What're you carrying with you?" he asks.

Gendry doesn't answer right away. One of Roric's men hits him hard in the back of the head. "Roric asked you a question, Crow!"

"Weapons!" Gendry relents, blinking stars out of his eyes. "We...we were carrying weapons to King's Landing."

This seems to interest Roric. "Let them live, but take what they have. Tell your queen why you're arriving empty handed. You tell her, that Roric of Ash let you escape with your life."

…

Roric watched the bedraggled group trudge off along the Kingsroad, his mind racing. That girl...something about her struck him as familiar. Had that been the reason he'd chosen to save her and allow them to go free? Or had it been her bravery? He did not know, but he knew the face of Mira Stark would linger in his mind for quite some time.

…

King's Landing

Daenerys found herself spending a lot of her time in the garden. The scents of the freshly blooming flowers seemed to ease her troubled thoughts. And time away from the castle and her duties was much needed as well. She just couldn't seem to focus on anything properly after her conversation with Maester Tarly.

The God of Beasts was a dragon? And not just a dragon, but _the_ dragon. It was difficult for Daenerys to fathom, that her three beloved children with scales could be descended from such evil. Never had she ever contemplated how to kill a dragon. She had always thought them invulnerable. Until she'd lost two of her children to the Night King years ago. Her heart ached at the memory.

She knew now that dragons weren't invincible, that they could be killed. But she would never in a million years have thought that she herself would need to find a way to kill them. Could it be done? How? This...Alduin wasn't just a dragon, he was a God. How does one kill a God?

More importantly, did she even choose to believe this nonsense? Melisandre had been wrong before, many times actually. And prophecies are never so cut and dry. Could she afford to waste time musing over stories and legends? Everyone had thought white walkers had been stories and legends...the death of two of her dragons was a constant reminder that wasn't the case.

She had no more time to make sense of her troubled thoughts, when she caught sight of her daughter, Katarina knelt among the azalea bushes.

"Katarina, darling," Daenerys called out to her. "What are you doing?"

Katarina stood up, holding a woven basket full of an assortment of flowers. "Picking fresh flowers for the infirmary. It's so dreary in there. Perhaps a bit of spring will raise their spirits."

Daenerys smiled at her beautiful daughter. She had long, black hair like Jon, his Stark genes very strong in their children. But Katarina's eyes were a brilliant violet like so many Targaryens before her.

"You have a gentle heart, my love," Daenerys told her, reaching forward to brush her fingers delicately over Katarina's cheek.

Katarina smiled back, but her smile faltered as she really looked at her mother, seeing the sadness in her eyes. "Mother, is something wrong?"

Daenerys faltered, but quickly straightened her spine with regal poise. "Nothing you need worry yourself over, Katarina. I am fine."

Katarina wasn't sure she believed her, but she knew being queen was a huge responsibility. Her mother was probably feeling the weight of it. How lonely it must be sometimes, even when surrounded by family and subjects that love you.

A loud screech came in the distance, and both Targaryens looked to the sky in time to see a flash of black and red soar past. Katarina hurried to the edge of the balcony, her eyes straining to see. Daenerys smiled softly and followed more slowly, her silver hair whipping over her shoulders by the strong gust of wind Drogon's mighty wings sent their way.

"He's so big!" Katarina gasped in awe.

"It is said that dragons keep growing until they die," Daenerys explained, coming to stand next to her at the balcony. "The largest was Balerion, known as the Black Dread. Your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror rode him into many battles for Westeros."

"What happened to Balerion?" Katarina asked.

"According to history, he lived to be two hundred years old before he died of old age."

Katarina's violet eyes widened. "You think Drogon will live to be that old?"

Daenerys watched her only living dragon child circle the sky, his cries music to her ears. "I do hope so, my sweet child. He's the only one left of his kind now." Her mind went to the prophecy again, of the father of dragons returning to the world of the living, and a chill swept down her spine. If the God of Beasts was really coming to swallow the world whole, did any of them truly stand a chance?

"Your Grace?" the silky voice of Lord Varys breaks into Dany's thoughts as she turns to him. He dips his head respectfully to her, his hands forever buried in the long sleeves of his golden robes. "Pardon, your Grace. But there is urgent business that requires your attention."

"Very well," Daenerys sighs. She looks once more at Drogon, then to her daughter, still watching the sky. "Coming, Katarina?"

"I'll stay a bit longer. I like to watch him fly."

Daenerys smoothed her black curls down with a tender smile. Then she collected herself and turned to follow Lord Varys back toward the castle.

…..

"So there really is only one dragon left in the world?" Freya, a scarlet headed whore trails her finger along Alexander's bare chest.

"People thought dragons were gone forever," he says, his breath hitching as another one, this one's name which seems to have escaped him-she's got nice tits though-licks at his earlobe. "But your queen came in possession of the first three in thousands of years. People say there are still dragon eggs scattered in the world, turned to stone with age."

"Is it true only Targaryens can bond with dragons?" Freya asks.

"Have you ever tried to bond with one?" Alexander quips, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. She lets out a tiny squeak at the contact. "Enough talking...your prince commands you to do what he's paying you for."

The girls giggle and obey, as one climbs on top of him and the other starts kissing his neck.

…..

It is almost sundown by the time Alexander emerges from the brothel, feeling satisfied and in great need of a drink. Before he can head for the local tavern, he spots his older brother Eddard walking swiftly toward him, a very disapproving look on his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" Eddard scolds him.

"You have eyes, don't you?" Alexander chuckles, and his brother is not amused.

"You are not behaving like a prince!"

"How should I behave? Shall I be serious and boring like you? Brother, you need to loosen up, a bit. Come have a drink with me."

"I have duties to attend to," Eddard says flatly. "The small council is gathering. I'm to be there."

"Suit yourself," Alexander shrugs. He claps a hand on Eddard's shoulder and shoves off. "Don't wait up!"

Eddard shakes his head. Alexander is so frustrating! His brother has never cared much for duty and responsibility. All he seems to care for is women and drinking. They were brothers, but they really were nothing alike.

The sound of a bush rustling caught Eddard's attention and he turned, seeing nothing. He was about to leave when he heard giggling. Rolling his eyes, he approached the bush and grabbed his two youngest brothers by their collars.

"What are you two doing away from the castle!" Eddard scolded them.

Kaiden and Caius laughed and tried to wrestle with Eddard, who despite his annoyance, couldn't help but crack a smirk.

"Alright, alright! Enough. Lucius!" Eddard called to one of the nearby guards. "Make sure these two get back to the castle. And that they _stay there."_ He cast a stern glance at his brothers.

"Yes, your Highness."

…

King's Landing-Great Hall

The doors swung open and Prince Eddard strode into the hall to see that the entire council had already gathered. Daenerys sat at the head of the table with Jon and Tyrion on either side of her. Lord Varys, Davos, Melisandre, and Maester Tarly were seated at the table as well. All eyes fell on him expectantly.

"Sorry I'm late," Eddard took his seat next to Davos. "Have I missed anything?"

"No, we waited," Daenerys told him with a knowing glance. "But now we may begin. Lord Tyrion?" She turns to her hand.

Tyrion nods to her and brings up the issue with Dorne.

"They dare to make demands?" Daenerys is displeased.

"More of a request, your Grace," Lord Varys clarifies. "And might I suggest taking it into consideration?"

"And why would I do that?"

"Because Dorne boasts the second largest army in Westeros," Lord Varys reasons. "Many, even your father and his father before him attempted to conquer their lands and not even they were successful."

"My father and his father before him didn't have a dragon," Daenerys points out. "Dragons had been long thought extinct by their time. Perhaps if they had, things would be different."

Jon cast a weary glance at his wife. Daenerys was known to have a temper, and many feared her. Jon had a much sounder mind, and did not wish to see any more blood shed than was necessary.

"We need to tread carefully," he spoke softly to her. "We don't want the Dornish as our enemy. And we don't need another futile war at our doorstep."

"It is not war I want, either," Daenerys snapped. "But if we grant them this request, how many more _requests_ will they make after that? How long before all the kingdoms start making requests? We may as well open our gates and allow them all to come in and rule!"

"You make a very good point, my Queen," Tyrion interjects with a nod toward Daenerys. "We cannot afford to show weakness. However, I also believe in picking our battles. Grant them this small request. Keep the peace. Let us not go to war over something so trivial. I'd like to point out that there are still those in Westeros who despise you and your family. Some even say you're worse than Cersei-"

"Careful, Lord Tyrion," Daenerys warns, and he dips head to her again.

"I mean no disrespect, your Grace," he continues wearily. "I am only presenting you with facts. We chose you to lead us because we believe in you, and Westeros has indeed flourished under your rule. No one is denying that. But to say that there won't ever be those who oppose the crown or wish to see you fall is naive thinking."

Daenerys is quiet for a moment, pondering his words. She seems to see the truth in them, and lets out a deep sigh. "You're right. There will always be those who hate me and my family. Hate what I am, hate my decisions. But that is not the sole consequence of having my father's name. Many of those who knew him are dead. That is the consequence of being Queen. It is...impossible to please everyone. _But,"_ she holds up a finger as Tyrion gets ready to open his mouth in protest. "It is something I must try, if we intend to keep the peace. So I will grant them their...request."

A weight seems to lift from around the table, as everyone relaxes.

"That is very gracious of you," Lord Varys tells her.

"I'm not being gracious," Daenerys speaks with cold steel in her voice. She looks at Tyrion and the hint of a smile teases at her lips. "I am being smart." Tyrion meets her gaze, and she can see pride in his green eyes. She cleares her throat. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually, yes." Davos casts a serious look at Jon before continuing. "A raven from Casterly Rock this morning. Jaime Lannister speaks of possible trouble between the Freys and the Starks."

Jon shifts in his seat, obviously trying to hide his discomfort.

"The Starks and the Freys have been feuding for years, what of it?" Lord Tyrion questions.

Davos picks up the scroll and clears his throat. "According to this, the Freys speak direct threats against Arya Stark. They talk of killing her."

This really gets Jon's attention. He reaches forward and snatches the scroll from Davos. He reads over it as Daenerys watches him carefully.

"No one has seen Arya Stark in years," Sam points out. "Why, they'll never find her!"

Jon crumples the parchment, his teeth grinding. "If they harm her…"

"No harm will come to her, I assure you," Tyrion says. "If anything this serves as warning of war that could break out between the two houses."

"I won't let that happen," says Daenerys, fire in her eyes. "If I have to send my dragon as warning to them-"

"No." Jon stands, his face cold. "We will send the message with words, not dragonfire. As Lord Tyrion has correctly pointed out, there is much unrest in Westeros. People already fear you, we can diffuse this situation without Drogon."

Daenerys nods in agreement and Jon continues. "I will warn them with words, and if they choose to disobey a direct order from the crown, then they will live to regret that they did. Also, I will demand that Ludd Frey deal with the men who threaten my sister, or I will call for their heads myself."

No one in the room dare question Jon as his inner wolf emerges through in his words. He was a reasonable man, and violence was only a last resort to him. But if anyone threatened his family, then that person would not live to see the dawn.

Jon looks at his son, who had been listening intently. "How goes the training of our men?"

"They are learning quickly," Eddard responds.

"Good." Jon narrows his eyes. "I expect we'll need our armies stronger than ever."

…..

The North

Rodrick adjusted the dead boar over his shoulder with a grunt as he hoisted the big beast atop his horse. It had been good hunting, and the time away from home had done him some good. There was nothing like the calm of the forest, the whispers of the trees, the trickle of the stream. The thrill of the hunt. It was like his own religion.

The sound of hooves pounding toward him alerted his senses, and his hand went instinctively for his sword. But he quickly recognized the rider as one of his own, skidding to a stop in front of him. Judging by the blood and dirt Odmund was covered in, Rodrick knew something was wrong. His heart sank.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Lord Gendry sent me back, my Lord," Odmund panted. "We were ambushed. By the Hill tribes."

"What of my father and Mira?"

"Both alive, my Lord. They continue on to King's Landing."

Rodrick let out the breath he'd been holding. Thank the Gods.

….

Winterfell-Godswood

In the clearing, the three youngest Stark children banter among the ancient weirwood trees. Ethan grabs ahold of a low branch and pulls himself up into the tree.

"You're going to hurt yourself!" Talia warns him from below.

"I won't!" Ethan calls back down to her, reaching up for another branch. He was always climbing things-trees, buildings. Sansa liked to tell him he was just like her brother, Bran.

Ryon out stretched his arms and started to creep toward Talia, pretending to be a white walker. "Flesh...flesh...I need...flesh!" he grabbed her and she laughed, tugging him away from her playfully.

"Stop it, it's not a joke!" she scolds him, though with a grin. "The white walkers were real. They were here. Many people died fighting them."

"Like our uncle Bran," Ethan adds, his voice sounding far away in the tree. He sits perched on a sturdy branch and looks to the darkening sky. "He used his powers to warg inside one of the queen's dragons to fight the Night King." A somber look falls across his face. "And he died. Right here beneath this tree."

Talia wishes she could've met their uncle Bran. Sansa speaks so much of him, how brave he was. How he gave his life to protect them. So that they could have the life they enjoy now. Free.

"Do you think they'll ever come back?" Ryon asks, his eyes wide in fear.

"The white walkers?" Talia shakes her head. "No, they all perished with the Night King's defeat. We're safe now. No one will ever hurt us. What's our family motto?"

"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Ethan and Ryon say in unison. So many of their family have died, but there would always be a Stark in Winterfell.

…..

King's Landing

Jon stood on the balcony overlooking the crowded city. Over a million people lived here. He had once questioned why anyone would ever want to live this way, yet here he was. The Northern Fool. He smiled to himself. He'd follow Daenerys to the end of the world.

His thoughts wandered to Arya. He hadn't seen her in so long and he deeply missed her. And worried about her. He knew he shouldn't though, because Arya could take care of herself. Still, he wished she'd come home where she belongs.

He felt arms wrap around him and he instantly warmed to her touch, the smell of her perfume overtaking his senses. Daenerys rested her cheek against his back.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" she asked knowingly.

"Always," sighed Jon.

"She's safe, wherever she is," Daenerys spoke with certainty. "And probably happy. She always struck me as a free spirit."

"You're not wrong." Jon turns around in Dany's arms and rests his forehead against hers. "In truth, I worry about all of us. Especially you."

"Me?" She looks up at him with her violet eyes that still light a fire deep within him after all these years. "You don't need to worry about me."

"And you don't need to lie to me," Jon rests his hand on her cheek. "I know something's been bothering you."

His eyes search hers, and there are so many words lost on her lips. Many things do trouble the queen, many things that cause turmoil within her. But she can't bring herself to tell him about it, not yet. She doesn't want to ruin the precious moment between them, of them just holding each other. She lives for these moments, and everything bad slips away like vapor.

So she just silently shakes her head and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Jon knows his wife well, and knows she is avoiding the issue and attempting to distract him. But Gods, it is working. Daenerys Targaryen would always be his one weakness.

 **A/N Whew! Long ass chapter. My wrist hurts haha. But hope you guys are liking it, and please let me know your thoughts, suggestions, or things you'd like to see! Until next time, friends!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

King's Landing

Jon blinked open his eyes and squinted against the rays of golden light that streamed into his and Dany's chambers. He raised a hand to his face, remnants of sleep still making his mind foggy. He felt the stirring of a warm body next to him, and he turned to look at the silky silhouette of skin strewn over his body. Silver hair free of the usual elegant braids she often wore that reached down her back, a wisp of it brushing against his chest.

Her long lashes fluttered ever so subtlety as she slept, and for a moment he was just content to lay here and watch her breathe, the gentle rise and fall of her chest a beautiful sight.

All these years and he still couldn't believe she was his wife. His queen. He didn't think he would ever get used to waking up to this woman.

But even despite the peaceful look on her face as she slept, Jon knew there was something dark taking root in her mind. It kept her distant from him, and he could feel it like a void between them. It hurt that she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her. He had always known Daenerys as a woman of strength, who had a habit of maintaining a wall of ice around her, sometimes even to him. He was probably the only person alive she'd bear her soul to, but even he found himself on the outside of her shell from time to time. And he hated it because he knew it was her way of protecting him, much more than herself.

The dark seed of worry imbeds itself firmly into Jon's heart as he watches his wife sleep soundly with half her body covering his chest. Yesterday at the meeting, he was reminded of how impulsive she can be. How quickly her mind flies to violent and rash thoughts. He didn't want to let his mind go there, to even breathe life into the idea...but he couldn't help thinking that as much as he and many others who love her have tried to suppress that part of her, there still remains a part of the Mad King in her.

…

Samwell Tarly sat at his desk, numerous tomes open before him as he poured tirelessly over them, searching for answers. So far he didn't have much to go on about how to kill this godlike dragon that was supposedly prophesied to return and destroy the world and mankind. Even when he said it to himself it sounded ridiculous. He wasn't sure if he even believed it.

Sure, the white walkers had been a very real threat, there was no denying that. But if they chose to believe in every legend about monsters there would be no more sanity left in the world. There wasn't a lot of research available to him about this Alduin, and anything he had was in old Valyrian and almost impossible to pronounce. Daenerys had tried, but it didn't make much sense to her either, and there seemed to be a passage missing.

Sam sat back in his chair, frustrated. He felt the weight of exhaustion fall heavy on his shoulders. All this talk of Gods and Dragons and the end of the world was a real downer. And he was no closer to finding out how to stop it.

A knock at the door jarrs him, and he realized he had just been about to fall asleep. Wiping his eyes, he quickly fixed himself, expecting it to be Queen Daenerys. No doubt checking on his progress in regards to Alduin, and he would have to face her disappointment. The dragon queen was quite scary when she was angry.

"Come in, your Grace!" he called out, trying to hide the dread in his voice.

"Your Grace?" a voice that didn't belong to Daenerys spoke, and Sam relaxed as Katarina walked in. The young Targaryen favored the better features of both her parents. She was a beauty, with a sharp mind too. Sam liked talking to the young princess. She spoke with the age of someone much older than a girl of fifteen. "I suppose one day I'll have the honor, but today is not that day, Maester Tarly."

"I thought you were the Queen," says Sam as Katarina wanders further into his study, her eyes gazing around his many collection of books.

"Not yet," Katarina says with a playful smile. She looks at him. "What are you working on?"

"Um, nothing important," Sam quickly closes the book he'd been reading and starts to gather them up. "You know, just reading for pleasure."

"Reading for pleasure?" Katarina regards him skeptically. "Surely the Maester has more pressing matters to attend?"

"You have no idea," Sam grumbles, shuffling past her to put away his books.

Katarina watches him closely, memorizing exactly where he puts them. She doesn't quite believe that she'd walked in on him reading the Tales of Beeezlebee.

"You have so many books," Katarina remarks, turning to peruse the shelves. They are covered in dust. Doesn't anyone ever come to clean in here? "Have you read them all?"

"I think that would be an impossible feat even if you lived a hundred years," Sam chuckles from around the corner.

"Did you know that dragons can live to be over two hundred years old?" Katarina asks in wonder. "And that they never stop growing?"

"Quite terrifying if you ask me," Sam shudders.

"I think it's amazing."

"Well you would, wouldn't you?" Sam winks at her and she smiles.

He turns to the bookshelf and taps a finger against his chin. "Let's see here...ah! Take a look at this." He pulls out a large dusty tome with fine leather binding. He hands it to her.

She blows the dust off it and reads the title: _The Conquering of Westeros: The dawn of a New Era._

"The story of how your family shaped Westeros to what it is today," Says Sam. "It started with three Targaryens. They had three dragons. Just like your mother once did."

"Now she only has one," Katarina says quietly, glancing briefly at Sam. A shadow seems to pass over his face for a moment, but it vanishes.

"I need to get back to work. But you're welcome to take that back with you. Just be sure and return it when you're finished."

"I will." Katarina holds the heavy book to her chest. "Thanks, Sam."

…...

Winterfell

Sansa woke to the sound of a horn blasting, and she sat straight up in bed, already fearing the worst. Had something happened?

She jumped out of bed and quickly threw a cloak over her nightgown and hurried out into the courtyard. She could see the large wooden gates opening, and her heart pounded in her chest as she waited to see who was on the other side.

Two horses, one with her eldest son Rodrick on its back, and the other one had Odmund. As relieved as she was to see Rodrick returned safely back home from his hunt, her relief was short lived when she got a good look at the soldier. He was covered in blood and dirt, and looked in a pretty bad way. Why wasn't he with Gendry? Oh Gods…

"What happened?" Sansa demanded as they dismounted their horses. "Why aren't you with the others? Did...did something happen to…?"

"No, my Lady, he's fine," Odmund reassured her with a dip of the head, though he winced while doing it. "Both Lord Gendry and Mira are safe, and en route to King's Landing."

"Gods be good!" Sansa breathed in relief. But she could tell there was more to the story. She demanded to know what happened, and Odmund told her of the attack by the Hill tribes while resting for the night.

As she listened, she couldn't stop the fury from gripping her. Those foul excuses for human beings were still lurking about, waiting to terrorize innocent people who were unfortunate enough to come across them. Something needed to be done about them. She was just grateful that her husband and daughter had survived. It seemed her prayers of safe travels hadn't been ignored after all.

"Go straight to the Maester," Sansa ordered Odmund. "You look like hell."

"Feel like it, my Lady," he rasped, nodding to her again before limping off toward the castle.

Sansa looked at Rodrick and was happy to see him in one piece. The large dead boar strewn over the back of his horse was an indicator to who had lost the battle.

"I see hunting was good," she says, a hint of disapproval in her tone. She would never get used to the idea of her son out there in the wilderness, no matter how old or big and strong he got.

"Aye." Rodrick can tell his mother is shaken from the news of the attack and she is just making small talk. He pulls her into a hug, hoping to quell her anxiety. "Father is strong. And Mira takes after him more than you think. She'll be fine, and he'll return to you."

Sansa let out a sigh and hoped he was right. But she knew Gendry had sent Odmund back for a reason. She would be able to get a raven to Jon in King's Landing before Gendry even reached the castle walls. The Hill tribes needed to be dealt with.

…

The Twins

Ludd Frey let out a loud bellowing laugh from where he sat at the head of his table, listening to a story his men were telling of a eunoch. He really did feel pity for the cockless. Was there even a point in living without one?

"More beer!" he barked at one of his servants after draining his dry and slamming the mug down on the table. "Fucking lazy son of a whore...now where were we?"

They are interrupted by Maester Elliot striding into the room, a scroll clutched in his hand.

"My Lord, a raven from King's Landing," he announces.

"What in the bloody hell could the dragon bitch want with me?" Ludd grumbles. He holds out his hand impatiently. "Well, hand it over then!"

"Not the Queen's words, my Lord," Maester Elliot says as Ludd snatches the scroll from him.

"No?" Ludd reads over the scroll. His brows arch. "So..the king sends his warning to keep the peace with the Starks. Ha!" He spits on the floor in disgust to signify exactly what he thinks on the matter. "I'll keep my fucking peace when they're all rotting in the ground."

"My Lord, with all respect," Maester Elliot bows. "We cannot ignore a direct order from the King. And it would not be wise to oppose the only supplier of Dragonsteel in Westeros."

Ludd Frey snorts, reaching for his ale. "Aye, the bloody steel. Yes, yes. They can't use that as their shield forever. What I do find interesting, however…" Ludd glances back down at the scroll and stubs a chubby finger to it. "Is this line here: 'See to it that you deal with the men who threaten Arya Stark, or I shall pass judgement myself.' The men who threaten Arya Stark. Very interesting. Now, how would the King know anything about our plans for Arya Stark? Hmm? Anyone?"

Silence settles over the table as the men either exchange wear looks, or keep their eyes down on their plates. Ludd slams his fist down on the table, causing a few dishes to fall to the floor and shatter. A few of them jump.

"I asked a damn question!" he bellows. "How does he know about the girl? Someone had better speak, or I'll have all your tongues ripped from your throats!"

Ronald, one of his men with two very large front teeth and a face not even his mother could love speaks up, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. "Apologies, my Lord...i-it was my fault. I was at the Bannered Mare the other night, you see. I'd had a few to drink, you see...my mind wasn't straight-"

"Out with it, boy!" Ludd barks, making him wince.

"I was talking about the Stark girl," Ronald confesses, his eyes darting from Ludd's face to his hands. "And...well...I was overheard."

"You were overheard." Ludd repeats, his voice a low dangerous tone that all his men came to fear. "Overheard...by WHO?!"

Everyone jumps again, even the servant who dropped the plate he'd been cleaning. He quickly scurried out of the room.

"S-ser Bronn, my Lord," Ronald stammers. "Ser Bronn of Blackwater. He was there. He heard me, and he must've been the one to tell the King, my Lord."

Ludd glares at him for a moment, his chest heaving in his anger. Long moments stretched by. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the explosion. But instead, Ludd stood up from the table and began to pace around it, his hands behind his back.

"So if I'm getting this straight…" he says, his tone measured. "You decided to go out and run your drunken mouth about killing Arya Stark where anyone could've heard you. Where someone _did_ hear you. And that someone told the King, and now the King has it in for us. Is that about right?"

Ronald swallowed. "Y-yes, my Lord."

To everyone's surprise, Ludd stops pacing and starts to laugh. Everyone exchanges uncertain glances as their Lord's laughter continues. Then they all start to awkwardly join in. No one is quite sure what is funny, but of Lord Frey decided something was funny, then everyone else had better damn well think it funny as well.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" Ludd roars with laughter, clutching his large belly. "You must be the dumbest son of a bitch in the land!"

Ronald's laughter falters as everyone shoots smirks in his direction.

"But I know you weren't alone," Ludd finally says once he's done laughing. He's serious now. "No man drinks alone. Who else was with you?"

Ronald doesn't answer right away. Ludd pulls out a dagger from his belt and holds it to Ronald's jugular. "You answer me boy, or I'll bleed ya, right here at this table."

Ronald's adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. "Pipp and Weaver. They was with me, my Lord."

"That's a good lad," Ludd whispers, patting Ronald's cheek. He takes the blade from Ronald's throat, who visibly relaxes. "The three of you, stand."

Ronald exchanges a nervous glance with his two companions-Pipp, a pockmarked dark haired lad, and Weaver, a big boned lad with a bearded face. They looked as afraid as he felt.

"I said, STAND!" Ludd bellowed, and the three of them stumbled to their feet. Weaver knocked over his goblet with his belly.

"My Lord, we beg your forgiveness!" Pipp pleaded. "We was drunk, we didn't know what we were sayin!"

"Hence why we're in this shit of a mess!" Ludd held up the scroll from the King. "He wants me to punish you three. Tell me, how do you think I should punish you?"

They look at each other again. Ronald speaks, his voice unsteady. "I-I couldn't say, m-my Lord."

Ludd regards the three pathetic men for a moment. Then he says, "Go to Essos. Find the Stark girl. And kill her."

The three of them each looked shocked. Ronalds's eyes widen. Pipp's jaw drops. Weaver just looks confused.

It is Ronald who speaks. "My Lord?"

"And do not come back without her head," Ludd commands. "Do I make myself clear?"

The three of them exchange another glance, and then nod in unison. "It shall be done, my Lord."

"Get on with it then!"

They excuse themselves and hurry from the room, with everyone staring at Ludd in shock. Maester Elliot leans toward him cautiously. "Lord Frey, perhaps that was not wise...King Aegon made himself quite plain-"

"I'm well aware of what the fucking king said," Lord Frey cuts in. "He wants my men punished. Use your heads! Do you honestly think those three idiots will succeed? Either Essos will kill them, or Arya Stark will. Either way, they'll never return here."

Maester Elliot sees the truth in his words and nods. Ludd sits back down at the table and reaches for his ale. "Someone fetch that bloody servant. Tell him to clean this mess."

…

Essos-Island of Naath

The salty sea water lapped at Rhayana's bare feet where she stood, her toes sunken into the warm sand. The sky was clear, and a deep cerulean blue. The Gods had blessed them with another glorious day. Rhayana knelt down to sift through the sand, in search of more sea shells for the necklace she was crafting for Missandei.

It was nearly finished. She just needed to find the right one. Even though Queen Hestia was her mother, Rhayana had always thought of Missandei as more her mother than the queen. She was a very dear friend to her, and the island felt much less lonely with her around.

Even though Rhayana was surrounded by her sisters and the sky and the ocean, she still felt shut out from the rest of the world. Isolated. She had never been away from the island, it's all she's ever known. She knew there was more out there, because men from distant lands often dared to venture to their island, for one reason or another but mainly to conquer the beautiful women of Naath.

None of them ever succeeded.

Queen Hestia always told Rhayana that she needed to be protected from the rest of the world, that there was nothing but evil outside of their quaint, little island.

" _The World is full of monsters, my dear," Hestia had told her when she was a young girl. "And I will protect you from them until the end of my days. Here on this island, you are safe. Here on this island, you have all you could ever need."_

Rhayana believed the queen's words, she had seen just how evil the world can be. When the men that once lived here kept them all as slaves. Raped them, broke their souls. But it had been Hestia's dream to free them of that horror, and she did. Now they were free. And Rhayana realized just how lonely freedom could be.

"Ah, found you," Rhayana said to herself, picking up a beautiful molusk shell that had hues of blue and green, perfect for Missandei. Rhayana was just about to stand when something glinting in the sunlight caught her eye. It was a shade of periwinkle, partially exposed from beneath the sand. Another seashell?

Rhayana suddenly felt a strange pull from somewhere deep within her, and she couldn't explain it. But before she could give it another thought, she was digging. She brushed more sand off of it and paused, her breath hitching when she saw what looked like... _scales._ She resumed digging, her breath coming quicker now, heart pounding. Finally, she managed to unearth the strange thing and held it in her hands. Gods, it was _heavy!_ And beautiful...it was the a mixture of soft periwinkle and deep molten brown, covered in scales.

An egg! But not just any egg...it was too large to be that of any bird that flew around these lands. Rhayana felt something strange stir within her as she gazed at the mysterious egg. She couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but she felt...joy. Warmth. Like she was meant to find it here buried in the sand on this lonely island. She also felt like she couldn't trust anyone to know she'd found it.

….

Winterfell-Godswood

Talia sat with her back against the weirwood as she had her eyes fixed on the book she was lost in. A tale about a mermaid who couldn't feel emotions until she met a land dweller. She fell in love with him. But couldn't be with him because she couldn't survive out of the sea. He would come out to the shore every day to see her, though they couldn't touch. One day, he stopped coming. And the mermaid was so enveloped with sadness that her heart froze. Her soul wanders the sea, calling out to her lost love.

Tale felt a tear sting her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. She wondered what love felt like. She knew her parents were in love. She could see that Sansa missed Gendry and waited for his return, hiding her anxiety from no one. Talia was young, but she was very perceptive for her age. She hoped her father would come home soon too. She already missed her sister. She knew Sansa missed her brother, Bran. She talked about him so much, and any time she did her eyes would glaze over and she'd have to excuse herself to attend to some duty she'd say. But Talia knew she was going to cry in private where no one could see. Even after all this time, her mother still grieved the brother she lost. All three of them, none which Talia had gotten the pleasure to meet. But she knew from stories of her uncles, that all three of them were brave, just like the wolves their House was known for.

Lost in her thoughts, Talia almost didn't notice that the wind had picked up. She closed her book and glanced up at the sky, her hair blowing around her face. Leaves the color of blood were falling from the weirwood she sat under, floating down around her as the wind blew.

She thought she felt a chilling presence. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. But it wasn't from the cold.

"Talia…"

Talia startled, looking around her with fear gripping her insides. The sound of her name had been faint, she wasn't even sure she heard it. It could've just been the wind. But as she kept looking in the distance she could've sworn she saw a glimpse of dark hair among the trees. Figuring it was her brother Ethan trying to scare her, she got up to her feet.

"Ethan, this isn't funny!" she cried out, irritated. "If you're trying to scare me, it's not going to work so just cut it out!"

No response met her words. Ethan and his childish games. She'd show him! She started to make her way toward the copse. She called out to him again, but there was still no response. She searched among the trees and brambles but saw nothing. If he was hiding and trying to scare her…

"Talia…"

She turned her head toward the voice, still faint but she was sure she had heard it that time.

"Ethan, come out!" she called to her brother. "I know it's you, cut this out at once!"

She felt something cold brush her neck from behind and fear made her body freeze. She dared to turn around, shivering, clutching her book like it was a weapon. But there was nothing-no one there.

Starting to feel genuinely afraid, Talia slowly started to back away into the clearing, her breathing ragged.

"Talia!" Ethan's clear voice rang out to her from the direction of the castle. She turned and saw her brother waving to her from far away. "Mother says to come in, supper's ready!"

Talia felt the cold chill of fear wrap around her as she realized whoever she saw in the trees couldn't have been Ethan. She looked once more behind her, and the wind seemed to settle once more.

….

Dinner didn't feel the same without Gendry and Mira at the table. Sansa kept casting looks at their empty chairs ever so often as she ate without saying much. Talia too was rather quiet, still shaken from whatever had just happened in the Godswood. Ryon still chattered on as usual, too young to be bothered by anything. Rodrick eased the mood by telling his hunting stories. Ethan however, could sense that something was bothering his twin.

He leaned toward her. "What's with you?" he murmured.

Talia shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "Nothing, just not really that hungry is all."

"You've barely touched anything on your plate, dear," Sansa says, overhearing them. "Are you ill?"

"No." Talia sets down her fork, her eyes still avoiding anyone's at the table. "May I be excused?"

Sansa nods, worried. But she will not press. "You may."

Talia gets up from the table and goes to her room. Sansa takes a sip of wine and allows herself to get lost in her thoughts again as the voices of her children chatter on. Her thoughts go to Gendry and Mira on the road to King's Landing. She hopes they get there safely without any more trouble.

A knock at the door stirs her, and all eyes go curiously to the door as it opens. Maester Frederick steps in, the chains on his robes rattling. "Lady Stark, a visitor."

Sansa quirks an eyebrow in curiosity. "Send them in."

Maester steps further into the room and gestures for someone to follow. Sansa's brow rises further as Ser Bronn of Blackwater walks in. Bronn was a good friend to Tyrion and Jaime, and had fought beside Gendry in the war for the dawn years ago. He was always welcome in Winterfell, though Sansa wondered as to why he was here.

"Lord Bronn," Sansa stands to greet him.

"My Lady," Bronn nods to her in respect and with a grin. "Though I must ask you not to call me 'Lord'. Just Bronn is fine with me."

"Of course," Sansa smiles at him. "Please, join us. You must have traveled far."

"Aye, I have." Bronn moves to sit down in one of the empty chairs. He speaks a greeting to Rodrick and Asher, who both shake his hand like brothers. "Hello, little Starks," Bronn says to Ryon and Ethan.

Sansa calls to her servant and asks him to serve Bronn some food and wine. She looks at him curiously. "What brings you to Winterfell?"

"Just passing through, actually," Bronn says, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in his wine. "On my way to the Wall, I am."

"The Wall?" Sansa repeats skeptically. "And why would you want to go there? It's empty."

"Is no one interested in history anymore?" Bronn shakes his head. "Just a destination I want to cross off my list is all. And I'm only happiest when I'm on the move. And I want to see if the stories are true."

"What stories?" Ethan asks.

"They say old Castle Black is haunted," Bronn says ominously, his dark eyes narrowed for effect. Ethan and Ryon gaze at him, and Sansa can tell they are hanging on his every word. She rolls her eyes. "The spirits of the men who died there still guard the castle, unable to move on. At night, you can hear them moaning."

"You're scaring them," Sansa scolds him.

"I'm not scared!" Ryon protests.

"Yes you are," Asher teases, nudging Ryon playfully.

"There's nothing there but a rotting castle and a mountain of ice," says Rodrick doubtfully. "You're wasting your time. I didn't take you for a man that believes in ghosts."

"After you've seen the things I've seen, that your mother has seen," Bronn glances at Sansa. "Then you'll believe anything."

No one could argue with that, not even Sansa. Who knew what kind of creatures still lurked beyond the Wall while they had all been so preoccupied with the white walkers? If ice zombies and dragons existed, what else was out there? What magic lie undiscovered in this world they thought they knew? Sansa had no interest in finding out. She was content where she was, with her children.

"You should come with me," Bronn says to Rodrick, taking a sip of wine.

"What for?" Rodrick questions. "To freeze to death?"

"Could always use an extra sword."

"Do you expect to run into trouble?" Sansa asks. "And you want to invite my son along for trouble?"

"No trouble if nothing there but an old abandoned castle," says Bronn, and he turns to Rodrick. "Besides, I know you like to hunt, and you're good at it. My men and I will be needing something to eat on the journey. Could really use your skill with a bow."

Rodrick seems interested now, and Sansa sighs. "It's too dangerous."

"I think I'm old enough to go as I please, mother," Rodrick tells her. His eyes soften, knowing how she worries. "I'll be fine."

Sansa doesn't see the point in arguing, she knows it would be no use.

"Asher, you're welcome to come along too," Bronn offers, and that's where Sansa draws the line.

"I don't think so!" she says sharply. "It's bad enough my husband is away, and you've already convinced Rodrick to go along with this nonsense. Someone needs to stay here and oversee Gendry's duties until he returns."

Bronn nods respectfully to Sansa. Asher seems surprised that she would leave him in charge, but knows she is just looking for an excuse to keep him in Winterfell. So he does not argue.

Bronn claps his hands together, a large grin on his face. "Brilliant! We leave at first light."

…

The next morning, Sansa wakes up and makes sure she is in the courtyard to see Rodrick off as he gets ready to set off with Ser Bronn to the Wall. She finds him saddling his horse and her eyes settle on his sword, its steel catching the sun's rays. She prays that he doesn't have to use it. She doesn't think she could bear it if something happened to him.

Bronn is also in the courtyard, talking with his men. Sansa does a head count. Ten of them. Enough to fend for themselves on the long, cold trek to the Wall and then to whatever mysteries lie beyond it?

Sansa approached Bronn, her hands clasped in front of her. "Do you have enough men? I could send some of mine with you."

Bronn gives her a knowing look. "I expect we have just what we need, my Lady. My men would kill for me, I will not ask that of yours."

Sansa shivers, and she knows it's not from the cold winds of the North. "If anything happens to my son…"

"I'll glady accept your wrath," Bronn says, fighting a smirk. He glances at Rodrick, sharpening his sword. "I've seen him fight. He's strong, and brave like his father."

"His father almost got himself killed on the way to King's Landing," Sansa says with ice in her voice. "Or hadn't you heard?"

"Aye, I heard," Bronn dips head to her. "A damn shame that happened. But he's still alive, isn't he?"

Sansa doesn't respond. She just lets out a shaky sigh as Rodrick starts to head toward them, leading his horse. "Just bring him back safely. Don't go looking for trouble."

"That's what I do best, my Lady," Bronn says, and this time he lets the smirk cross his lips. Sansa resists the urge to slap it off him. If he had a thirst for danger, that was his business. Why did he have to go and bring her eldest son into it as well? He was already reckless with his boar hunting...and Asher...he was worse. Which was why there had been no chance in hell of her allowing him to go. What was it about men always needing to go out and prove themselves?

Her mind briefly wandered to a man she hadn't thought of in years. A man she had vowed to never think of again. And yet his face still intruded in her nightmares, and now in her conscious thoughts for the first time in a while.

Ramsay Bolton. Once had been a Snow. He had been so desperate to prove he was more than a bastard that he'd been willing to kill and succumb to cruelty to do so. It had gotten even him killed in the end. Even in his death, a part of him still clung to the deepest, darkest parts of her.

"Mother, stop worrying," Rodrick breaks into her thoughts, and she sees that he is standing next to her. "You can't keep me here forever. Makes sense for me to see the world, if I am to be Lord of Winterfell one day."

Sansa smiles softly at him, and she resists touching his cheek and embarrassing him in front of Bronn. "I'll worry until I'm dead. Now go. Be careful."

Rodrick gives her a brief hug and mounts his horse. And Sansa watches another of her children leave Winterfell to venture out into whatever lies waiting.

 **A/N what do you guys think? Will Rhayana find out the truth about who she is? Are Jon Snow's worries about Daenerys justified? Will our beloved Sam find a way to destroy the God of Beasts? What will Bronn and Rodrick find beyond the Wall? Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading:)**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Essos

Rhayana stared at her precious egg as it sat perched over a makeshift nest she'd crafted with some twigs and leaves she's scrounged together. She doubted it would hatch, it looked almost aged to stone. But she couldn't shake the sort of... _motherly_ instinct she seemed to feel toward the beautiful thing. She kept gazing at it, mesmerized by its beauty.

She reached out a hand to touch it. It was cold to the touch, and felt absolutely devoid of any life inside of it. Yet Rhayana continued to feel an undeniable pull toward it. She couldn't describe it.

The sound of footsteps outside her door made her snap out of her trance. She couldn't let anyone see! She quickly grabbed the egg and stashed it under her bed, just as she heard the knock.

"Princess?" Missandei's sweet, foreign voice sounded from the other side of the door. "It's me."

Rhayana felt relief at the sound of her friend's voice. "Come in, Missandei."

The door opened and Missandei walked in, her head of curls bouncing around her face as she moved. She had lovely skin the shade of almonds, and warm friendly brown eyes. Missandei was her dearest friend. And she trusted her more than anyone. Surely she could trust her with her discovery? She wants to tell her, but the words hang on her lips.

"You've hardly come out of your room in days," Missandei says, taking a seat on Rhayana's bed. "I was beginning to worry."

"No need to worry," Rhayana quickly looks for an excuse, but can't find one. She finds it hard to lie to Missandei. "I've...just had my mind occupied is all…"

"Is something wrong?" Missandei frowns with worry.

Rhayana shakes her head, her silver hair framing her face. Missandei watches her for a moment, not quite believing her but seems to accept her response. She looks so much like Daenerys, it sometimes hurts to look at her.

Rhayana searches for something to break the tense silence and as an afterthought reaches for hair brush. "Will you do my hair?"

Missandei seems pleased to be asked. She nods with a smile. "Of course, if it pleases, princess."

Rhayana sits down and looks at her reflection in the mirror as Missandei starts brushing her hair. It feels soothing, and she lets her eyes close for a moment, enjoying it.

"I never told you this," Missandei says quietly as she sets the brush down and starts to intricately braid Rhayana's hair like she'd done for Daenerys many times. "But I once served a beautiful queen. Not Hestia, a different queen. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. And she had the kindest heart. She saved me from my master and set me free."

Rhayana listens intently. "You had a life outside the island?"

Missandei chuckles softly. "Oh yes. I was taken from my home when I was a young girl. I was sold as a slave. And this queen, she came as if in a dream. And she freed me from my chains."

"What did you do then?" Rhayana asked.

"I followed her on her quest to conquer distant lands," Missandei continues, and her voice takes on a reminiscent tone. She sounds like she's lost in a memory. "I was happy to serve her. She saved a great many people."

"She sounds like quite a woman," Rhayana says. "You loved her."

Missandei looks at Rhayana's reflection for the briefest of moments, and Rhayana could swear she saw a flash of sadness in the her friend's eyes. But she averted her gaze before Rhayana could be sure.

"Yes," Missandei almost whispers. "So did everyone willing to serve her."

"What happened to this queen of yours?"

"Well I expect she continues to rule, as she was meant to," Missandei finishes braiding Rhayana's hair and Rhayana catches a glimpse of what looks like regret and...something else. What is Missandei not saying?

A ghost of a smile plays at Missandei's lips as she looks at the beautiful princess before her. "I expect you're going to ask how I ended up back here?"

Rhayana nodded and waited for her to continue.

Missandei was quiet for a moment, and she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Rhayana could sense this was a sensitive topic for her. She almost considered changing the subject when it seemed Missandei wasn't going to answer when finally, she was speaking.

"It seems that destiny called me back home, little princess," she says quietly. "And so I am here, with you."

Rhayana looked at her, not quite sure what to make of her answer. But she could tell that Missandei was finished discussing it because she turned away.

"I'll let you get your rest," she said, starting toward the door.

That was it. A moment shattered and slipping away through Missandei's fingers. She had come so close to telling Rhayana the truth, that it scared her. She had made a promise to Daenerys and she intended to keep it.

"Missandei, wait."

Missandei stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to Rhayana. "Yes?"

Rhayana almost told her about the egg, but didn't. For some reason, whatever it may be, she wasn't ready to tell anyone just yet. She felt oddly protective of it.

So instead she opted to present something else to Missandei instead. She turned and reached into her jewelry box to withdraw the seashell necklace she had made for her. When she turned Missandei was watching her curiously.

"I made something for you."

Missandei's chocolate brown eyes widened. "For me? You didn't have to-" her voice faded into a small gasp as she saw the lovely necklace dangling from Rhayana's fingers. The many colors of the shells seemed to dazzle her. It was beautiful!

"You made this?" Missandei breathed, reaching out to touch one of the shells.

Rhayana nodded, smiling shyly. "Do you like it?"

"I..I love it. Thank you." Missandei takes the necklace and reaches up to clasp it around her neck. She fingers the shells lovingly, feeling touched that Rhayana had done something so thoughtful for her. She was so kind, just like her mother.

Tears threatened to well up in Missandei's eyes, and she fought against them but they betrayed her. Rhayana frowned, confused at the reaction. "Is something wrong?"

Missandei vigorously shakes her head and turns away from the princess. "No...it really is lovely. Thank you. I have to go." Missandei makes a hasty escape, leaving Rhayana staring at a closed door, her mind in shambles.

…

Winterfell

"Our stores of grain?" Sansa asked the farmer, drawing her cloak around her.

"Flourishing, my Lady," Alvan was pleased to report. "The Gods are kind. Our cows are full of milk, and pigs fat and plentiful. The next time Winter comes, our people will not starve."

"Pleased to hear it."

The winter that the white walkers came had been a long and bitter one indeed. It continued for what seemed like years after the fall of the undead army. Many either froze to death in their beds, or starved. Now that spring was making its grand entrance, the lands grew rich again.

Sansa nodded to Alvan and continued on her walk under the overhang. The sound of steel being forged at the smith reminded her of Gendry, and she felt a pang in her chest. She still waited to receive word of his and Mira's safe arrival to King's Landing.

Her eyes found Asher's red hair among a group of soldiers, training as usual. Sansa watched them for a while, feeling her heart swell with pride. He had Sansa's looks, but he moved like his father, with quick agility and strength. Gendry chose to wield a heavy war hammer as his weapon however, while Asher stuck to short swords. He was growing into a strong and capable warrior. And it scared her.

Asher saw her watching him and he quickly disarmed a fellow soldier as he attempted to take advantage of his momentary distraction. The soldier looked down at his fallen sword and back up at Asher's grinning face, his own showing his frustration. Sansa couldn't help but chuckle.

Asher sheathed his sword and walked toward her. As he came closer she could see the beads of sweat on his face from training hard.

"I don't think Michael appreciates you making him look like a fool before the Lady of Winterfell," Sansa says with a teasing lilt to her tone.

"He'll get over it," Asher says dismissively. His eyes focus on Sansa's face more and a wave of concern passes over him. She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes, and the dark bags beneath them betray her exhaustion and sleepless nights. Sansa shifts uncomfortably and looks away, toward the direction of the Wall where she'd watched Rodrick set off a few days ago.

"Are you sleeping?" he asks her in quiet tones, not wanting anyone to hear them.

"Enough to function," she answers. She casts a sidelong glance at his worried face and straightens her spine, lifting her chin high with all her Northern poise. "Don't you fret over me, Asher. I am fine. It takes much energy to govern a kingdom, you know."

"Yet you do it so well. Our people thrive under you, Mother," Asher praises her.

Sansa appreciated his words of praise, but there were times when she still doubted herself. She could only hope to live up to the legacy of those before her. The face of her father swims into her mind and she feels almost overcome with sadness. All this time, and her dreams were still haunted with the memory of his execution in King's Landing right before her eyes. It was the reason she still could not bring herself to set foot into the cursed city again, not even to see her brother. Too many dark memories. She had been a prisoner behind its golden gates. She only hoped that Mira would be able to make it a better home than she had.

"Those hill clans are a filthy stain on this land," Asher's voice breaks into her thoughts. "It's a wonder they are still allowed to roam about in open rebellion to the crown."

"Like Dorne, they are an independent people," Sansa says in a measured tone.

"Unlike Dorne, they are savages," Asher growls, his eyes glinting dangerously. Sansa wonders what is going on inside his head. She doesn't like it. "They cannot get away with blatantly attacking our people."

Sansa looks at him, feeling the dull thud of her heart knocking against her chest wall. Asher had a murderous look on his face, and the way he clutched his sword hilt made Sansa swallow with unease.

"Please tell me you're not thinking of going out and doing something stupid," she murmurs.

"We have enough men," Asher reasons. "I could lead a retaliation."

"Asher-"

"I will personally slay any man who dared to harm my blood!" Asher raises his voice. "Their savagery cannot continue!"

And there it was. That recklessness that both made Asher a great fighter, but could also get him killed. She would not have it.

"The king will handle it," Sansa says firmly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I will not have you go risk your life-"

"If a soldier didn't risk his life for the good of his people, then what is the purpose of a soldier?" Asher argues, his blue eyes chips of ice.

"To live to fight another day. A soldier knows which battles to fight, and this is not yours. Our king will handle it." Sansa says with certainty, and she hopes her words reach Asher.

With his red hair like fire, Sansa can almost see smoke coming from Asher's ears as he fumes.

"You will lead no such attack," she tells him with quiet authority. "And trust me, my son. If it is battle you wish so desperately for, then you will have it one day. But today is not that day."

Asher looks like he wants to argue some more, but Sansa's face makes any remaining words die on his tongue. He lets out an exasperated sigh and runs a hand through his fiery hair.

"Very well," he relents. "I suppose one can only hope that Queen Daenerys grants them a fiery death they deserve."

And with that, he turns and walks back to his men. Sansa watches him go, weariness making her heart feel heavy. No one was angrier than her at what the ruthless savages had done, killing her men. Gendry and Mira barely escaped with their lives. They should burn for such actions. So why then, did she suddenly feel lightheaded and weak kneed at the thought?

She knew exactly why.

 _Images of a field of grass surrounded by thick oak trees swam before her mind's eye. Snow had only just started falling with the approach of Winter, lightly dusting the earth. That image faded and another memory came to her. She was holding someone's hand for dear life, feeling her fingernails sink into the flesh of his palm. His salt and pepper hair came into view. That face she had almost completely forgotten after she watched Arya's blade open his throat._

 _She remembered the agonizing pain that ravaged her body, the blood. So much blood…even now she could smell it. Little Finger had hovered over her, smoothing back her red hair as he whispered comforting words into her ear. And she had clung to him desperately, staring into his eyes as if to plead with him to make the pain go away. When finally it did. The sound of a baby crying. The sweet, shrill sound of a small human's lungs which should bring joy to her ears. But all it brought was pain. Shame. A reminder of the foul man that had brought this upon her. A man whom had left a permanent mark on her soul, owning her even in death._

Sansa forced the memories away, fighting the tears that stung her eyes. She couldn't let anyone see her this way. She cast a somber look in the distance, toward where the large gloomy mountain could be seen with a cloud of fog around it, below which she knew the Hill tribes resided. Then she steeled herself and let ice settle around her once more before turning into the shadows of the castle.

…..

King's Landing

Gendry looked through the small window of the wagon at the towering city of King's Landing. It had been years since he'd seen the grand city. The last time he laid eyes on it, it was nearly in shambles from the devastation of the war. Now it looked almost as magnificent as it once did with all the reconstruction. He could even see that the Sept of Baelor had been risen from the ashes of Cersei's destruction with wildfire.

The streets were crowded with smallfolk, and the wagon slowed to a steady trot as they rode through the square. Mira was in awe as she took in the sights. King's Landing was beautiful! Just as grand and full of life as she had imagined. People danced, laughed and the air was filled with the sound of music and singing.

"Why is everyone so happy?" Mira wondered aloud, watching as a man played a lute and two women danced around him, their dresses dragging in the dirt.

"This is the way it's supposed to be," Gendry tells her. "People are happy when they are safe and secure. Queen Daenerys and your uncle have done well to restore the city to its greatness." He remembered when he was a young lad, a bastard unbeknownst to him, working in the smiths of Fleabottom. Things had been so grim back then. People lived in fear of the lunatic king Joffrey after he had risen to power following the death of King Robert Baratheon. No one danced in the streets then. Many even feared to go outside their homes. People starved. Children and babies were butchered all to secure a false claim to the throne. It was a dark time.

Daenerys Targaryen's rise to the Iron Throne was the best thing that happened to Westeros and its people. And with Jon Snow at her side, known to most now as Aegon Targaryen, they had managed to build a positive future for the world they knew. A better one. Gendry couldn't be prouder to serve.

Their wagon ran over a shallow indentation in the road causing it to rattle. Gendry winced at the movement and clutched his chest where his wound from the arrow was. Mira glanced at her father worriedly. She had done her best to dress it up with a piece of fabric from her gown, and had cleaned it with some alcohol they got from a local tavern but it needed proper medical attention. The ride to King's Landing had been long and rough on her father, and though he fought hard to hide it, she could tell he was in pain and growing weaker. She just thanked the Gods that it had not festered.

"Halt!" they heard a man's voice command from outside the wagon, which jolted to a stop.

Mira saw a soldier clad in black and gold, his helmet designed to look like a wolf's head. His armor was made to look like scales. The golden crest on his breastplate had what looked like a dragon and wolf intertwined around a sword. Mira had never seen royalty before, and suddenly she felt nervous.

"What business do you have in King's Landing?" the guard demands of their rider.

"A shipment," the old man responds, with apprehensiveness in his voice.

The guard circles to the back of the wagon and peers inside to see what is obviously empty.

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"It's alright," Gendry speaks up through the window, his voice sounding tired but strong and clear. "Bring us to our Highness. We have much to explain."

"My apologies, Lord Gendry," the soldier says with respect when he looks in at him. "One can never be too sure. We've had problems with imposters trying to smuggle their way into the city, hoping for a glimpse of the Dragon Queen. Or perhaps, just her dragon."

Gendry raises his brows. "Is there trouble?"

"No, your Lordship. Nothing our men can't handle anyway. But our Highness is expecting you. I will escort you to the castle."

The walk to the castle feels like a long one, and Gendry is really feeling the pain from his wounds so he can't move as quickly as he'd like. Mira stays close to his side, her shoulder pressed into his for support, though he can stand on his own two feet unsteady as they are. She takes in the sights as they follow the guard to the castle. The smell of sweet rolls wafts to her nostrils from a local bakery. Children's laughter brings a smile to her lips. She really thinks she's going to love it here.

….

By the time they reach the castle Gendry is out of breath and leaning on Mira.

"You'd best make this quick," the guard, whose name they learned is Isaac says, eyeing Gendry. "You should see the Maester sooner rather than later. A tale you must have!"

"Aye." Gendry says breathlessly, forcing himself to stand up straight after catching his breath. How on earth had he survived? The Gods must really have favored him. "I expect they already know if my wife's raven has reached the city before I did."

"We shall see." They stop outside two large doors plated in gold, and Mira can herself quivering with excitement. She is about to meet the Queen! She had heard many stories about the Mother of Dragons.

The doors open to reveal an expansive hall which seems to be dappled in golden light. Mira squints her eyes to look up at the glass ceiling where the sunlight pours into the room. Large columns stand on either side, wrapped in rose vines. But what draws her attention is to the front of the room, where the legendary throne made from swords sits in all its glory. She had heard that her grandfather Eddard Stark's greatsword, 'Ice' had been melted down and added to the throne after his death. She wondered if it were true.

But it wasn't the throne made of iron that was the most impressive thing in this room. It was what, or rather _who_ was sitting upon it.

Long silver hair that framed a face that seemed to be made of porcelain, like one of Mira's dolls from her childhood. Violet eyes that were both warm and commanding, and a fire seemed to burn beneath the depths. The Dragon Queen's beauty far surpassed that of legends. It was almost painful to look at her. She sat with her back straight as an arrow, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a gown of the purest white silk Mira had ever seen, and she looked more like a Snow Queen rather than a Dragon Queen. Her uncle Jon stood next to where she sat on the throne, dressed in his usual black with a long golden shawl draped over his shoulder. She could see the white wolf pummel of his sword poking out beneath it and she was reminded of home. Her uncle was handsome even now, and his broad shoulders still represented the strength of seven kingdoms and the faded scars on his face told of years of battle.

Seeing them together was quite a sight, and she could feel the power radiating from them both. She instinctively falls to her knees, her head bowed. Gendry glanced at her with amusement and instead of bowing dipped his head with deep respect. He couldn't bow if he wanted too, his entire body ached.

Daenerys and Jon look at each other with soft smiles and Jon lets out a warm chuckle.

"There's no need for that," he speaks in his deep, Northern accent. He raises an arm. "You are family. Rise."

Mira gets to her feet, and she can't help but smile as well. She had missed her uncle Jon. He steps toward her and lets his eyes sweep over her. "Mira, you've grown since I've last seen you. You're getting taller than me."

Soft laughter sweeps around the room, and Mira becomes aware that there are others present. She spots a man with golden hair and hints of grey and recognizes him as the Imp. Lord Tyrion. Sansa speaks most highly of him and had apparently once been married to him. Next to Tyrion is another man, taller and rounder with a smooth, bald head. Lord Varys? The Master of Whispers. Standing behind Jon and a bit standoffish is an elderly man with a kind face and grey beard. Mira can't quite remember his name, but she knows that people call him the Onion Knight.

She lets herself focus back on her uncle as he pulls her into a tight hug. He feels warm, and smells like home. It seems that even far away South, the smell of Northern air still clings to him. Jon withdraws and looks to Gendry, his grin growing wider for his old friend. Mira knows they fought beside each other in the Great War, and that their fathers had before them. Those closest to Jon knew that Eddard Stark wasn't his father, but he had continued to view him that way long after he learned the truth about his bloodline.

"We can save the brotherly hugs, I'm afraid," Gendry says, his hand going gingerly to his wound. "But it is good to see you."

"Likewise." A shadow passes over Jon's face and his grin falters when he takes in the state of Gendry, and their joyful reunion is shattered by the dark reality of the situation. Sansa's raven had reached him a few days before their arrival, and he had been waiting to see the safe arrival of Gendry and Mira before taking further action. But before launching into the serious discussion, he remembers Mira standing next him and he turns to make introductions.

"Mira, may I present to you Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen and all her titles," Jon says with a playful tone as he gestures toward his wife.

Daenerys seems amused at his introduction and she smiles warmly at Mira, her violet eyes twinkling. "In the time it would take to announce my many titles we'd all turn grey with age." She stands and walks gracefully toward Mira. "So we save such dreadful pleasantries for formal affairs. But I am pleased to meet you, young Stark. You're as beautiful as your mother."

Mira blushes and almost doesn't know how to respond to such high praise from the mother of dragons. "T-thank you, your Grace."

"Call me Daenerys," the silver haired queen says, taking Mira's hands in her own. "We're family."

Mira smiles at her and the queen gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Daenerys turns slightly to one of her guards. "Lord Talbert, please escort Lady Mira to her chambers. Assign Luna to attend to her and make her feel at home. I imagine she is tired from her journey."

"Yes, your Grace." Lord Talbert dips his head and steps forward, offering his arm to Mira.

Mira takes it and casts a smile at her father as the soldier leads her from the throne room.

Daenerys waits until they are gone before turning to Gendry. "It is nice to see you as well, Gendry. Sansa will be pleased to hear of your safe arrival."

"I will write to her with haste," Gendry says, knowing his wife is probably pacing the rookery back in Winterfell. He takes the Queen's hand and kisses it. "Radiant as ever, Dany."

Daenerys nods to him and a look of concern settles on her face. "You're hurt."

"Aye, a flesh wound," Gendry says dismissively. "I'll live."

"Maester Tarly will be the judge of that," says Jon, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "There will be plenty of time to catch up later. Go straight to Sam and let him tend to you."

"Couldn't refuse a direct order from the king, now could I?" Gendry jokes, still managing to remain good natured despite his obvious pain and exhaustion.

"No you couldn't." The corner of Jon's eyes crinkle.

…

"He's going to be alright?" Ser Davos asks of Sam as the larger man rubs some sort of salve into Gendry's wounds.

"With time and rest, yes," says Sam as he works. "His wounds aren't fatal, and you should thank the Gods for that," he adds with emphasis to Gendry, who rests comfortably on the cot. "The arrow just barely missed your heart. You're lucky to be alive."

"I'm not arguing that," Gendry says, wincing as Sam rubs more of the ointment into the wound over his chest. "That stuff smells like dung."

"Maybe, but you'll thank me later," says Sam, setting the mortar and pestle aside and reaching for some gauze.

Ser Davos is relieved that the young lad will recover. He views him as the closest thing to a son he has.

"I still can't believe the gall of the hill tribes," Davos crosses his arms. "Bunch of savages, the lot of them. How many of your men survived?"

"Three," says Gendry solemnly. Anger licks his insides at the memory of his men butchered like pigs. What they had tried to do to his daughter pricks at his mind, and he doesn't think he'll ever forget the horrible image.

"It's a wonder you survived," says Davos. "They're not known for showing mercy."

"It was their leader's decision to let us go free," Gendry recalls the strange young man who barely looked fit to lead such a band of savages. Had it been because of Mira that he had shown them such mercy? He remembered the way he had looked at her, like he knew her, though that was impossible.

"Though without our weapons," Gendry adds. "Maybe he was trying to send a message."

"Perhaps," Davos says thoughtfully. "Well, I can tell you, Lord Gendry, that our Queen may not show them the same mercy they showed you. She's been in a right nasty mood lately."

"The guard we met outside the gates spoke of imposters trying to get to the Queen," Gendry mentions, his brows knit together in interest.

"Aye. But I don't think that's what's got her in a tissy."

Sam remains silent as he finishes tending to Gendry's wounds. He knows perfectly well what ails the Queen. Far larger concerns than anyone can fathom, and she feels she must bear it alone. A feeling of foreboding grips him, and he fears for the future.

…..

"The Kingsroad is no longer safe," Daenerys says as she paces around her council, wringing her hands. They had been discussing the trouble with mountain clans, and the Queen seemed to be growing more and more agitated. Jon watched her wearily. "We must ban access to travelers until the threat to the edge of the Vale is dealt with."

"And how may I ask, do we deal with them?" Lord Tyrion muses, watching his queen pace from the brim of his goblet.

"The Hill tribes have lived in seclusion for years," Jon says. "They mostly keep to themselves, but if anyone is unfortunate enough to stumble upon them…"

"Like I was years ago on my way back to King's Landing in Ser Bronn's company," Tyrion recalls, almost grinning at the memory. He had smoothly talked his way out of that dangerous situation, and they had even fought beside his father against the Starks. How long ago that seemed.

"They're foul and cruel," Tyrion continues. "But they seem to respond well to shiny things."

"That's apparent, since they now have Dragonsteel meant for our armies to terrorize people with," Lord Varys says sarcastically.

"And you see that they let Gendry and Mira go in exchange," Tyrion points out. "Perhaps if we offer them gold-"

"Gold?" Daenerys lets out a cruel laugh. "What would savages want with gold? They live off the land, not in castles. And not by any rule. They are unhinged and dangerous, and there is only one thing people like that understand. Killing."

"You're not wrong," says Tyrion. "But I seem to remember a time when I was completely at their mercy, a mere half man with no hope to defend myself. And I dangled the riches of my father before them like a piece of meat to a lion, and not even they could refuse such an offer. And behold, I do believe I am alive."

"Lord Tyrion is talking sense, my Queen," Jon says as Daenerys remains quiet, seeming to ponder over the Imp's words. "Perhaps we can convince them to-"

"There is no _convincing_ people like that," Daenerys interrupts, her violet eyes gleaming with fire. "In my days in Essos, I came to know men that lived like beasts. That took what was not theirs and exploited. Raped, murdered, and plundered. And I will _not_ have the people I am sworn to protect live in fear of monsters like these."

She pauses for a moment, and all eyes are on her. Everyone seems to be dreading her next words before they leave her mouth.

"I will fly to the Edge of the Vale."

Voices spoke up at once. "Your Grace-" "You can't!"

"Silence!" Daenerys says sharply, fire blazing in her voice. "I will hear no more. It is not clever words and promises that secure kingdoms, it is power. As terrible as Cersei was, she was right about that fact. I cannot allow them to continue to live in rebellion to the Realm, threatening the lives of my people. I will bring them fire and blood and force them to bend the knee. Any man who refuses shall burn."

Tyrion stares helplessly at his fearless Queen, his clever mind searching for something-anything to change her mind. But it didn't seem likely for that to happen. Jon stood up to face his wife. His tone was soft as he spoke to her.

"Is there nothing I can say?" he asks her, looking into her furious gaze. He saw something unfamiliar in the violet depths, and it scared him.

Daenerys looks back at him, her anger diffusing but her voice still adamant. "No. There is not."

Jon nods in defeat, and turns away from her, his feet carrying him from the room.

He cannot look at his wife for fear he won't recognize her. He knew she had violent impulses, had witnessed them first hand. But this was different. Something had changed in her.

Daenerys watches him go and feels her anger melt to emptiness. She knows Jon is upset with her, and it hurts her terribly to make him upset. Tyrion and Varys are left with her and exchange silent glances. They both had seen what had passed between their king and queen. The two rarely argued, or hardly raised their voices at one another, but the tension that hung in the air in Jon's wake was heavy in the air. The Queen's posture was uncertain, and her face was sad. But she quickly remembered herself and cleared her throat.

"If that is all…"

Tyrion and Varys take that to be their dismissal and nod respectfully to the Queen before taking their leave. Daenerys waits until they are gone to allow her shoulders to slump, a shaky sigh escaping her. She sinks down into a chair and reaches for her goblet of wine.

The way Jon had looked at her...like she was a stranger. It stung. The way her closest comrades had regarded her with fear made her feel a pang of regret. She realized that her decisions could be brutal and no one felt the weight of that more than she did. Didn't any of them see that sometimes it was necessary to show dominance? Couldn't they see she had the people's interests at heart?

…

The sky is dark and glittering with many stars as Daenerys makes her way to the Dragon Pit where her child sleeps, his spiky tail wrapped around his large body. Drogon seems to sense her approach and his orange eyes slowly open and fixate on her. Daenerys feels warmth radiating from him as she gazes with great affection at her only living Dragon child.

She reaches out to caress his thick skin, and she can hear a deep purr reverberating from his throat.

"We fly, my child," she speaks in High Valyrian, and Drogon blinks once to show he understands.

The great dragon lifts his head.

"Perhaps this is not wise, my Queen."

Daenerys turns to see Melisandre standing behind her, draped in gowns of red, her matching red hair cascading around her shoulders. The expression on her face is forever unreadable.

"I am not interested in hearing what you think is wise, Priestess," Daenerys says coldly. "My mind is made up."

"I can see that," says Melisandre, her eyes going to the great beast behind Daenerys, puffing smoke. "And I am not hear to attempt to talk you out of it. I only ask that you tread with caution. If you do this, you may not return quite the same. And your people may not see you in the same light."

"They will see me however they please." Daenerys turns to climb on top of Drogon's back. She looks down at Melisandre. "But I am only a Queen that swore a vow to protect her people. And I shall."

"There are far greater evils around us that require your attention, my Queen," Melisandre reminds her quietly.

"You mean witch's tales and legends?" Daenerys says disdainfully. "I am no closer to making sense of this...prophecy you have given me. And I cannot afford to waste time contemplating the stars while I have kingdoms to rule. If your God of Light wishes to speak to me, he may do so. But until then, I must deal with what I _can_ see." She pats Drogon gently on his neck. "Soves!" she commands her dragon to take flight, and he spreads his wings with a great gust of wind and dust.

Melisandre watches her queen take flight and on a balcony from the city overlooking the dragon pit from a distance, another one watches as well.

Jon keeps his eyes trained to the sky as his wife and Drogon grow smaller and become tiny specs against the black, starry canvas.

"Don't lose your faith in her," Tyrion's wise voice speaks softly behind him. Jon does not look away from the sky as Tyrion moves to stand next to him on the balcony. "She may not always make the best decisions, but we chose her as Queen for a reason."

Jon wasn't doubting her stability or capability of ruling from the Iron Throne. He had allowed her to take it because she deserved it, far more than he did. He never had a desire to rule, but she did. She had a hunger for it, a passion. Jon loved Daenerys with all of his being, and he would until the end of his days but he would be a fool to deny that there is a darkness in her. A darkness that seems to grow with each tick of the hands of time. But her heart remains pure, and he knows she would lay her life down for her people, much the way she did to save him beyond the Wall so many years ago.

"I will never lose faith in her," he sighs heavily. "I know she has good intentions. She can just be so...reckless at times. It scares me."

"It scares us all," says Tyrion darkly. "But unfortunately great power often reigns in fear. It wouldn't be called power otherwise."

"Perhaps if Jorah Mormont were alive…" Jon ponders, and Tyrion looks at him with raised brows.

"He was close to Daenerys, yes, but he would have no better luck getting through to her than any of us," Tyrion tells him. He recalls the time at Dragonstone when Tyrion had been on the firing end of the Queen's rage, and of people it was Jon's advice she had sought, and his advice she had listened to. "I have to say that you are the one person she truly listens to, above all."

"And not even I could change her mind."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Tyrion says, and Jon looks at him then. "Daenerys is the most stubborn woman I've ever met in my long life, and she doesn't always see the error of her ways. But I am willing to bet that she is not as ferocious as she would like people to think."

It takes a moment for Jon to understand what Tyrion means, and then he remembers. When he had advised Daenerys against flying her dragons to the Red Keep and wreaking havoc on innocent lives and castles she had gone anyway. But she didn't fly to the Red Keep, she had met the Lannister Army head on instead, minimizing what could've been entirely catastrophic. She had listened to him after all.

"Let's hope that you're right," says Jon, turning to look back at the sky. Perhaps the long flight to the edge of the Vale will clear her mind.

Tyrion chuckles softly. "I can only think of a few times that I haven't been, Jon Snow."

 **A/N Do you guys think Daenerys is headed down a dark road or is she still the same old Dany we know and love? We shall see! Thanks for reading:)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Katarina learns about the Dragon God, and Daenerys flies to the Edge of the Vale to find a very different threat that she never would have imagined. Might be a bit short, we'll see. Enjoy!**

Chapter 7

The wind was strong and stung the Dragon's Queen's cheeks as she struggled to hold onto Drogon's spines, her body pressed into the hot flesh that kept her warm. Dragons were fire made flesh. Daenerys could definitely feel his fire radiating from her dragon, pouring into her and sharpening her senses.

They flew through the countryside with flashes of green and greys of the trees and mountains turning to blurs. The ride was peaceful, and for a moment she almost forgot what she had set out to do. Almost. Fire burned in her veins as she thought of the unruly savages terrorizing her people. They had nearly killed her husband's very flesh and blood. She didn't understand how everyone expected her to do nothing while they ran rampant on her lands. She was a Queen, and with that title came terrible responsibility. She realized how lonely that could be when it seemed no one else was on her side.

Her mind went to Jon, standing on that balcony and watching her fly away across the countryside. She had not seen him but she could feel him, could sense him and his worry. The way they had left things burnt her to the quick, the way he had walked away from her in such a subdued and defeated manner. How he had averted his eyes, as if he were afraid he would not recognize the woman he loves in the violet depths. Daenerys had learned long ago that love was the death of duty as it had almost gotten them all killed during the War for the Dawn. It caused complications, distractions. As Queen, she would not allow such things to recur.

But she made a promise to herself that she would go straight to him when she returned. She would make him understand. And she would remind him that she is still the same woman he fell in love with years ago.

But first, she had to be a Queen.

…

King's Landing

The fire blazed in the hearth, casting shadows along the walls of Katarina's dimly lit chambers. She sat curled up in the winged chair next to the fire, thumbing through the weathered pages of the book Sam had lent to her. She was intrigued by the stories of her ancestors and their quest to conquer Westeros, all by the power of three mighty dragons. None could stand before them. They were fearless. They had paved the way for her family and created a dynasty that her parents were now upholding. A legacy of fire and blood. Power.

She briefly imagined herself as a Dragonrider, slaying her foes and claiming glory for the name Targaryen. But the thought didn't quite sit well with her, in fact she felt a sick feeling inside as images of blood and fire played before her mind's eye. She felt for the many lives that had been lost at the hands of her predecessors, and a feeling of cold dread gripped her. Her grandfather, the Mad King had murdered lots of people, and had even intended to burn the entire capitol down with all its people, including his own family, inside it. He had been slain for it.

She thought of her mother, the revered Queen of Westeros and Mother of Dragons. She knew her mother was a fierce and fearless leader, and that she had spilled her fair share of blood and burnt a great many corpses to get to where she is. Katarina frowned as she closed Sam's book, releasing a cloud of dust that made her cough. She knew her family had a long history of bloodshed. She had always admired her ancestors and their dragons. But now she wasn't so sure. She could sense something dark in the air, and a cold chill ran down her spine. Then she thought of Sam, acting rather strange when she'd come to visit him the other day in his study.

What had he been deciphering? She didn't know why, but she had a strong feeling it had something to do with her family. She had to know.

It was late into the night, and way past time to be wandering around the castle and she'd probably get into a lot of trouble if she was caught. But that wasn't going to stop her. She climbed out of the chair and went to her bed. She reached under her pillow and felt her fingers close around something cold.

Sam's spare key to his study. She had nicked it from his desk the other day when he hadn't been paying attention. His desk was so cluttered and unorganized he wasn't likely to notice. She padded to her door and carefully opened it, peeking out into the dimly lit corridor. Empty. And deathly quiet. The castle slept, and here she was sneaking around in the shadows, all her better instincts screaming at her to go back to her chambers. But the adrenaline of doing something forbidden pushed her onward.

She hoped with all her might that she wouldn't run into any guards, and for a time she didn't. She was nearly to Sam's study when she heard lowered voices nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, she froze. Two large shadows were approaching, and she could hear their heavy footsteps.

"All quiet?" one of them said.

"Aye."

"Fancy some wine?"

Katarina pressed her back against the cold stone wall as she listened. There was a brief pause.

"Where'd you get that? That's-"

"Arbor Red. The finest Dornish wine there is. The Queen's favorite."

"She'll have our heads if she knows…"

"That's why it's a good thing the Queen's away, now isn't it?"

Katarina rolls her eyes at their conversation. She dared to peek around the corner to see them with their backs to her, one of them drinking from a wine flagon. _Idiots,_ she thought. And these were the men that were supposed to guard the castle and protect them? Maybe she could sneak around them. If she was quick and quiet…

They were still talking when she slipped away from the wall, holding her breath as she tiptoed quickly toward the other end of the corridor, when-

"Oi!" one of them calls out stopping her in her tracks. _Dammit!_ "You there, girl! Come here."

Katarina swallows and slowly turns to face them. The one who had been drinking from the flagon eyes her with watery, squinty eyes.

"It's the princess!" his companion hisses to him.

"I know who she is," the drunkard says, his words slightly slurred. "What are you doing out of bed, little princess?" He swankers up to her and she instinctively takes a step back. "You know you shouldn't be wandering about the castle at this hour."

"I…" Katarina wracked her brain for an excuse. "I couldn't sleep...fancied a walk."

The two guards exchange looks and she can tell they don't believe it.

"Is that so?" the besotted one comes nearer to her, his face looking sinister in the torchlight. She swallows. "You Targs all think you're entitled, don't you? Off to bed with ya! I don't have time to play games with children."

"But you have time to steal my mother's wine?" Katarina retorts, starting to get angry. How dare he call her a child! That seemed to jolt him. His eyes widened and he stumbled away from the princess, his mouth opening and closing.

"I-I don't know what you mean-"

"I believe you know exactly what the princess means."

All three of them turn to see Lord Tyrion approaching them, his short arms behind his back and his face set in a stern line.

"What is that you have under your cloak?" Tyrion demands, coming to stand beside Katarina.

"It's nothing, my Lord," the man fumbles, his eyes darting to the floor.

"Give it here, or I'll have you both flogged in the streets," Tyrion threatens, holding his hand out.

The two guards exchange glances once more, before the drunken one lets out an exasperated sigh and hands over the flagon. Tyrion pulls off the nozzle and lifts it to his nose.

"Ah, a fine Arbor red," he says, almost wistfully. "A favorite of the Queen's. I'm sure she'll be quite pleased to hear how you came to have it."

Their eyes widened in fear, both knowing full well the wrath Daenerys would surely unleash upon them for stealing from her.

"My Lord, please…" the one who hadn't spoken much was pleading.

"Please what?" Tyrion fought a grin as he watched the men cower before him like a pair of frightened geese. He waved his hand dismissively. "Never you mind. I suggest you get back to your duties and I'll forget what I saw here."

"But the princess-"

"The princess is with me," Tyrion interjects with a firm glare.

The guards dip their heads to the tiny lord and scramble away.

When they are gone Tyrion turns with a mischievous smirk to Katarina. "Well, that was interesting!"

"Thank you for that. I don't know what would've happened had you not come."

"They're harmless. Though I'll have to speak with Jon about the patrols," Tyrion casts a disapproving glance in the direction the guards had just disappeared. "I don't feel so safe with those two idiots guarding the castle." He turns to Katarina.

"Now, what _are_ you doing wandering around the castle? You should be in bed." He tries to sound stern, but is failing miserably. His green eyes gleam with mischief.

"I fancied a walk," Katarina blurts at once, her pitiful excuse sounding ridiculous even to her.

Tyrion stares at her, his brows arched, and Katarina itches under his unwavering gaze. She swears the Imp can see right through people and tell they are lying.

Finally he speaks. "Whatever you're doing, I don't want to know. I've learned with you Targaryens that the less I know, the better for me. But be careful. If you get caught, I may not be around to rescue you again."

"I think I can take care of myself, Lord Tyrion," Katarina says assertively, her spine straight as an arrow, much like Daenerys.

"I for one do not doubt it. Princess," Tyrion bows to her.

Katarina nods, the hint of a smile teasing her lips as she turns away and disappears around the corridor. Tyrion waits until she is gone and then looks at the flask in his hand.

"Oh, what the hell." He raises it to his lips and takes a hearty gulp.

…

Katarina reaches Maester Tarly's door without any other confrontations, and casting a quick look around her, she turns the key in the lock.

She slips into the dark study and waves her torch about, casting an orange glow along the shelves. Her eyes adjust and she moves further into the study, going straight for the row she had seen Sam putting the books away. She hovers her torch along the shelf, her eyes scanning the titles for anything that may jump out at her.

"What were you looking for, Sam?" she whispers under her breath. She pauses when a particular title catches her eye.

 _The secret behind the Doom of Valyria_

Katarina can't explain it, but somehow she knows this is it. She reached for the book and took it to Sam's desk. She sat down in his worn leather chair and opened the ancient tome. The pages were brittle and curled at the edges. She had learned about the mysterious Doom that had wiped out her family's ancestral home, but no one alive had ever been able to explain the strange phenomenon. It was the reason her ancestors had decided to leave Essos and make Westeros their new home in a string of conquests.

She skimmed over the pages, mainly finding information she already knew. Valyria was home to the ancient dragons and their dragonlords. Much mystery surrounded the magic that seemed to live within its walls, the very magic that was said to run in the veins of it's people. _Her_ family. Katarina wondered if that were true. There was surely some sort of magic that allowed Targaryens to bond with dragons. But why was Sam so interested in the history of Valyria? And why had he tried to hide it from her? There had to be something she was missing.

She kept looking and almost turned past a page that had a paragraph torn from it. She read the opening paragraph and gasped. God of Beasts? Father of Dragons? This she didn't remember from any of her lessons. But apparently the lord of light had created this monster to be his champion in a war against the Gods. Katarina's heart started racing as she began to read the last line to herself.

" _The Lord of Light opened the skies and released his wrath onto Valyria, hoping to consume the blasphemous beast he never should have created. But Alduin was able to escape, and will return for his final reckoning."_

Then nothing. The rest was torn out. A dark feeling of foreboding swept through her body as she stared at the page, reading it to herself over and over. Did Sam believe in this prophecy? Had he been trying to figure out a way to destroy the Dragon God? Was all of it true, that he would return?

Katarina did not know the answer. But she had a very bad feeling about it all. She had a bad feeling that they were doomed.

…

Edge of the Vale

Roric of Ash expertly sharpens his blade where he sits by the fire, tongue between his teeth in concentration. Made from the bone of a mountain lion, it was his most prized possession. A lot of blood it had spilled. Served him well, it has. Noises from the village drifted to him.

His men admired the fancy weapons they looted from the Crows. Starks. Roric didn't know much about the people in stone castles blindly following some king or queen they haven't met, but he knew the Starks had quite the reputation in the lands of Westeros. Wolves, they were called. Roric remembered the young red headed Wolf he had met. If it was true that Starks had wolf blood, he could definitely see it in her. The way she had fought back against his men, knowing perfectly well they could have easily killed her.

"The fancy folks have nice shit," one of his men, Eagle Eye, grunted as he turned a thin sword, its steel catching the fire light. "I could cut a bear in half in one swing with this one."

"What kind of steel is that?" Skullface inquired.

"Dunno, don't look like any kind of steel I ever saw."

Roric let their conversation fade to background noise as he continued to admire his blade. Children ran around, dueling each other with sticks. Women laughed and danced around the fire. These were his people. A disassembled group of three tribes that had once warred over territory, and Roric had managed to unify them into one. They chose him as their leader out of fear and respect, because it was his vision to take back the land of Westeros that had once belonged to their people before it was conquered. In the days of the first men, when there were no rulers. When people simply _lived._ When people were free.

There would come a time when they would not settle for living on the outskirts and shadows, foraging for their survival. Roric would see to it that his people had a better future. And he didn't care how many people he had to kill to make that happen.

Raised, belligerent voices drew his attention and he glanced up to see two of his men standing, chests puffed out and hands balled into fists. People were standing around, cheering loudly and goading the men on. Roric grinned with amusement as the first punch was thrown. He had no idea what they were fighting about, probably some spilled ale if he had to guess, but it was quite entertaining. His people were getting rowdy, and Roric just sat and watched as his men pummeled each other.

Finally, he sighed and got up to his feet. He walked through the crowd and they all seemed to scurry away from him, eyes wide in fear. Roric cared about his people, but they all knew his violent temper did not discriminate. They had seen that first hand when he plunged his bone dagger into the back of his own right before their eyes. All to save a crow.

Roric thrust his hands between the two men and pushed them forcefully apart, one of them stumbling to the ground.

"Enough of this," Roric says lazily. "You'll bring a pack of wolves straight into our village with all the ruckus."

"Let them come," Skullface says with a smirk. "Could be good eatin, and a hell of a fight."

"Not here. Not among our women and children, you idiot."

Skullface loses his smirk and clears his throat, averting his eyes from Roric's ice blue ones.

A tall, bearded fellow named Scar steps forward, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. Roric does not move and regards him nonchalantly.

"You killed one of your own to save a crow," he growls. "What say you, Roric of Ash?"

A hush sweeps around the village as all eyes are on their leader, waiting with bated breath for his response.

Roric continues to stare at Scar, his blue eyes chips of ice. "I should think I need not explain myself to you, Scar. Are you questioning me?"

"Aye, I am. They are the enemy. You showed weakness to the enemy. How can you continue to lead us?"

Roric looked around at his people. "Is there anyone here who agrees with this man?" Silence met his words. "Is there anyone who thinks me unfit to lead you? Speak now."

No one said a word. Scar scowled, his fists balled at his sides. He spat at the ground beside Roric's feet. "None of them will speak because they're all cowards. But Scar of Black Mountain is no coward."

"No you're not."

In one swift movement Roric's dagger found its way into Scar's throat, flung from his fingers so quickly he never saw it coming. Scar gurgled as blood poured from his wound, his dark eyes wide. The large man fell to his knees, his blood soaking the ground. Roric looked down at him, his face expressionless. He pressed his boot to Scar's chest and knocked him over, where his eyes stared blankly at the night sky.

Two of his men silently stepped forward to drag Scar's body away from the watching eyes. Roric wordlessly began to wipe the blood from his dagger. Such a waste. Scar had been a formidable warrior.

"Roric of Ash."

Heads turned toward the strange and unfamiliar voice. The crowd parted to reveal an elderly woman with long and tangled dark hair. She was dressed in rags and had a foreign look about her, a face not of these lands. Her voice spoke of a different tongue. Spears and swords were pointed at her, but she didn't seem to flinch. Roric narrowed his eyes at the strange woman.

"Who are you?"

"Who I am matters not," the woman speaks in her foreign accent. "But I know who you are, Roric of Ash."

"How do you know me?"

The woman does not answer and Roric steps closer to her, his face taking on a menacing expression but still the woman does not flinch. He can sense something around her, something dark. But he can't quite place it. And he doesn't like that she seems to know who he is.

"You will answer me, or I will-"

"Kill me?" the woman laughs, and her laugh sends chills down Roric's spine, and that is something that has never happened before. "You may do so, young one. I have already died."

Roric stares at her, and she stares back, her eyes black and unreadable. What does she mean?

Eagle Eye glowers at her, his hand tightening around his sword. "She's a witch, Roric! I can smell her dark magic. We must kill her before she has time to hex us!"

A murmur of fear breaks out among his people. Women quickly usher their children inside their huts. His men look at Roric expectantly, waiting for his command. But Roric finds himself intrigued by the woman.

"Why have you come?" he demands.

"I travel far from Essos, on my way to see the Queen," the woman answers. She tilts her head to the sky. "But its seems I need not travel far…"

Roric follows her gaze to the sky but sees nothing. What is this witch playing at? He thrusts his blade against her throat. "Give me a reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Because I have seen you, Roric of Ash. And I know who you are."

Roric's eyes widen, and he can feel a strange power radiating from her. He knows that she is not lying. But before he has time to question her further a loud screech in the distance makes everyone's heads turn once more to the sky.

"The Queen approaches," the woman says stoically, her eyes skyward.

Then chaos erupts.

A large shadow looms over them, growing larger.

"DRAGON!" someone shouts, and screams ring out into the clearing as the gigantic beast swoops down upon them, sending a great gust of wind over them with its mighty wings.

"Get down!" Roric orders, dropping his body to the ground as the dragon lets out a mighty roar, deafening his ears. He sees a flash of orange and smells smoke and can feel an intense heat coming over him as people scream and run in all directions. He lost sight of the old woman. There was no way she had been able to flee that quickly.

Roric looks up to see that the treeline surrounding their village is ablaze, the flames eating away at the trees at a surprising speed. But the village is unscathed. Where is the dragon?

He hears it before he sees it. Another earth shattering roar as a large shadow looms over them, engulfing the entire small village. The beast lands in the clearing, flapping its wings and his people scatter, tripping over each other in their haste to flee from the dragon. But they are surrounded by flames and have nowhere to run. Roric can see silver hair and slowly gets up to his feet to meet the fiery violet gaze of the Queen, where she sits on the dragon's back. Anger suddenly burns within him instead of fear. The dragon lets out a roar, its massive jaws parted to reveal large, deadly teeth. Roric couldn't help but admire them. They'd make for nice weapons.

The dragon huffs out a puff of smoke and lowers its head to allow the small woman on its back to climb down. The rumors had flown about her beauty, but Roric could care less about how striking she truly was. He stood before her, his chin lifted to meet her violet gaze.

She stops a couple feet from Roric and clasps her gloved hands in front of her, regarding him with resentment. "You are their leader, I presume?"

"I am."

"Then you should show honor before your people, and bow to your Queen." Daenerys commands.

Roric does no such thing. "I do not bow before any Queen. And neither do my people."

Her eyes glint dangerously and Roric can tell he'd struck a nerve. "No? I confess myself...disappointed. I had come here willing to allow you and your people to live peacefully. I cannot have you terrorizing my citizens and living in open rebellion of my rule."

"You speak of peace, yet you arrive on the back of a dragon and burn our trees to the ground?" Roric retorts, his tone measured.

Daenerys gestures her hand around the village. "Your village still stands, unburnt. I need not harm any of you, if you bend the knee to me now. You shall no longer live as outlaws in my land. I shall grant you a castle and make you a Lord. You shall live and prosper under my rule and not behave like savages."

"Under your rule? I told you, we do not live under any rule except my own. We serve no King or Queen. And we do not accept your hand outs." Roric spat at her feet, and her face went white as a ghost, her lips turning pale in her anger. Roric could almost see fire burning within her. But she spoke with clarity and determination.

"Then you shall answer for your crimes against the Realm."

And Roric was ready to accept his fate. He would rather die on his own soil a free man, then sell himself and his people as slaves to some foreign ruler. Then a voice spoke out. The woman.

"You should accept the Dragon Queen's offer, Roric of Ash."

The old woman steps from the cloud of smoke into the clearing, her eyes glittering mysteriously.

She continues. "You were never meant to live on the outskirts as animals. You should return to the place of your ancestors, and claim your birthright."

Roric stared at her, confusion seizing him. Birthright? What was this mad woman on about? Daenerys eyed the strange woman with narrowed eyes. "Who are you?" Roric had almost forgotten she was there.

The woman met Daenerys's gaze, and something dark passed behind her black eyes.

For a moment she didn't speak, then the next words from her lips seemed to be a riddle. "When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east. When the seas go dry, when the mountains blow in the wind like leaves."

Daenerys's eyes change and Roric could swear he caught a flash of fear in them. It was quickly gone, to be replaced by recognition and disbelief. Her mouth opens wordlessly, not seeming able to find the words.

"I am Mirri Maz Duur," the witch speaks. "And I have come for you, Khaleesi."

Daenerys is shaking her head, her violet eyes wide. Roric looks between the two women, growing more and more confused by the second but he remains silent. This is not a conversation he intends to interrupt.

"No...no...this is impossible," Daenerys finally speaks, her voice hushed. "I...I killed you. I saw you burn."

"You may have burned my body, Khaleesi, but you did not burn my soul," the witch responds cryptically.

Daenerys still shakes her head, trying to tell herself this isn't real. It can't be. She had watched this woman burn on her husband's pyre! Had heard her screams...how could this be? Yet she knew that death didn't seem to always be permanent. She had seen it first hand when her beloved dragon child, Viserion had died and come back to life. She had seen it in the scars on Jon's chest. Fear gripped her as she realized that somehow, someway, this witch she had murdered had survived. And she had come for her.

"What is it that you want?" Daenerys dared to ask.

"I think you know what it is I want, Dragon Queen," says Mirri. "What I want is to be able to leave this cursed land and have the rest I deserve. And I shall have it, with your dying breath, I shall have it."

Fire burns in Daenerys's eyes and Drogon growls behind her. "I killed you once before."

"And I have returned. And if you kill me again, so I will return again. We are linked, Khaleesi. And only with your death, will my soul be freed."

Daenerys is overcome with rage. This is the woman who had tricked her and cost her the lives of her husband and unborn child. The woman who had cursed her with a barren womb until the death of her dragon had somehow broken it. She still was haunted by that terrible price. This woman had taken so much from her, and now she dared to threaten her very own life!

Drogon could sense his mother's rage. His orange eyes were fixed on the witch, a low rumbling coming from his throat. Daenerys forgot there were others present, that the arrogant leader of the rebellious mountain clans still stood close to her. Right now, her rage burned only for Mirri Maz Duur.

She opened her mouth to speak the Valyrian command, " _Dracarys!"_

She did not care if the witch came back in another body, did not care if her life was truly linked to hers. She only wanted to see her burn right here and now.

But before Drogon could let loose his fire breath, the witch had started chanting, her hand outstretched. Drogon flipped onto his back, wriggling and squirming, his claws raking against the ground and creating large ruts. Everyone stepped back and watched in horror as Mirri continued to chant, stepping closer to the dragon. He screeched in agony, and his cries tore at Dany's heart. She stared wide eyed as her dragon writhed in pain, under some foul spell that Mirri was instigating.

"Stop it!" Daenerys cried out, taking a step toward the witch. "Stop it, please!"

Mirri stops chanting and Drogon stopped moving, his large chest heaving. Daenerys knelt down beside him, running her hand along his hot flesh as if to soothe him.

The people of the Hill tribe stared at Mirri, some in fear-others in awe. Daenerys had seen an ice spear take down one of her dragons right before her eyes. But never had she seen anything like this. She turned her eyes to the witch.

"What _are_ you?" she whispers, her voice shaky.

Mirri does not answer. She simply looks at Daenerys with that silent, unreadable expression. Daenerys turns back to Drogon and mutters to him in soft, but urgent tones. Roric is standing close enough to hear that she is speaking in some sort of strange language. The dragon seems to respond to the Queen's words, and visibly relaxes, his orange eyes blinking once.

Daenerys climbs onto his back and casts a dark look at the witch. "I _will_ kill you for this. And I will find a way to make sure you stay dead."

And with that, Drogon spreads his massive wings and takes flight, carrying the silver haired queen far into the sky and out of sight.

Roric slowly turns to Mirri, his mind still cloudy from all he had witnessed. The dragon had surely scared him as much as he had tried to hide, but this woman had managed to subdue the fearsome beast singlehandedly with a simple hand gesture and a string of nonsense. He didn't know what sort of dark magic she possessed, but it truly scared him. And he feared almost nothing.

He got down to his knees and bowed his head before her, and his people gradually did the same. Surrounded by dwindling fire from the the dragon, smoke billowing up into the sky, everyone bowed before this powerful witch. Mirri lifted her chin, her dark eyes scanning over them all.

"Stand, all of you," she quietly commands. "No man bends his knee before me. Rise."

Roric gets back to his feet with uncertainty, his eyes fastened to her face. "Mirri Maz Duur...you are welcome to stay among us." With a powerful witch such as herself by his side, no one would be able to stand against them. They could take back their home! But the witch seemed to have no intention of such things.

"I cannot stay," she says. "I must follow the wind, and live in the shadows until my dying day. And it will come. And then I will be free. But you must hear me, Roric of Ash. You must return to the place of your ancestors. Learn the truth of who you are. Restore your name. And die by the hands of your blood, your ashes returning to whence they came. As all life must be." And the witch nods to him, and turns to disappear right through the flames.

 **A/N Since this chapter mainly took place in one setting, I will probably update again tomorrow. Who do you think Roric really is? I tried to hint at it earlier and some of you may already know;p Hope you guys liked my little plot twist! Stay tuned to see what unfolds next for Dany and her family!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Thanks for the continued support! This chapter mainly takes place in King's Landing with a brief scene with Bronn and Co enroute to the Wall. Next chap we will catch up with our characters in Essos and Winterfell. Enjoy:)**

Chapter 8

King's Landing

Rousing from a deep, yet restless sleep, Jon instinctively reaches for the spot next to him where Daenerys usually lay but feels nothing but a handful of cold empty sheets. Then he remembers. He sighs tiredly and runs a hand through his black curls. He misses her. He lays in bed for a moment thinking of her flying beyond the countryside and sends a prayer to the Gods that no harm comes to her and that she returns to him soon.

…..

The grand Dining Hall is filled with the gentle clink of silverware and lighthearted chatter as servants bustle about the table, serving breakfast to the royal family. Croissants with marmalade, bacon, honey ham, english muffins, and eggs from prize hens. All Jon's favorites, yet he found himself not having much of an appetite. Servants offered to feel his plate and he kept shaking his head and waving them away.

His mind was full of dark thoughts, images of a burning countryside. He knows he shouldn't brood, and shouldn't have these thoughts. But it appears he is unable to shake the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, despite Lord Tyrion's reassurances.

The young Targaryens eat contentedly and chatter amongst themselves, none of them the wiser to what is going on. Little Caius plays with his porridge as Katarina scolds him and tells him to use a spoon and behave like a prince, not a peasant. Eddard discusses the patrols and training of his men with Jon, and Jon listens but his mind is elsewhere. He interjects a word or two from time to time, but he is mainly distracted.

The Imp himself eyes his King knowingly as he nibbles at his blackened bacon, but says nothing. He can tell that Jon is not in a talking mood. Instead he turns to Lady Mira, red headed like her mother and just as striking. "Did you sleep well, my Lady?" he asks her, and he notices how she startles. He can't tell if her reaction is from being addressed so directly from a high lord, or if his rather ghastly appearance had done it. His scar from the battle of the Blackwater had mostly faded with time, but was still not the prettiest sight for a young lady. But Mira smiles most kindly at Tyrion anyway.

"I did, my Lord," she says. "Thank you for asking."

"Oh please call me Tyrion," he tells her with a flourish of his hand. "Tell me, who fares your mother?"

"She is well."

"Will she be attending the festivities?" Tyrion asks hopefully. He has an urge to see the beautiful wolf again.

"I believe her duties as Warden of the North will keep her away from the capitol for the time being," Jon answers before Mira can say anything. He thinks of the Freys, and he knows his sister still can't manage to bring herself to set foot in King's Landing after all she went through to break free of its gates so many years ago.

"Well that is quite unfortunate," Tyrion says with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

The gold crested doors open and Alexander trudges in, his silver curls tousled from sleep and his face screwed up against the golden light streaming into the room from the large windows. Tyrion notices the state of the younger prince and hides his amusement by taking a sip of ale. It's obvious the lad has had a late night and is feeling the repercussions. Jon notices too, and he frowns with disapproval as Alexander takes his seat next to Eddard and the servants begin to dishing food onto his plate.

"Nice of you to join us," Jon says sardonically.

"Good morning, Father," Alexander says, picking up his fork. "You'll have to pardon me. I was having a...very good dream that was difficult to wake from." He glances at Tyrion with a half smirk and Tyrion turns his head, pretending to look out the window but Alexander knows he is fighting hard to not laugh.

Alexander's eyes sweep across the table and he notices that someone is missing. "Where's Mother?"

Jon stares at him sternly, and Alexander flinches beneath his father's gaze. "She's not here. She is away on business of the Crown. And you would know this if you were _where you're supposed to be._ "

Eddard glances at his brother, who dips his head ashamedly and reaches for his goblet. Jon lets his glare linger on his son for a moment longer, before turning to Tyrion. "I'm glad you find this all entertaining, Lord Tyrion. Perhaps I should find someone else to take charge of your...affairs?"

Tyrion clears his throat and dips his head respectfully to Jon. "That will not be necessary, my King."

"No?" Jon twirls his butter knife in his fingers as he regards the Queen's Hand. "Then I suggest you keep better record of your patrons."

"Yes, your Grace." Tyrion shoots a pointed glare at Alexander, who keeps his eyes on his plate.

"Now, Master of Coin. How fares our finances?"

"With the upcoming tourneys and royal wedding to follow, it is all appearing to be quite costly, your Grace," says Tyrion, offering a brief smile to the servant that refills his ale. "However, our vaults are full and we should have enough leftover to pay our debts to the Iron bank."

Jon nods approvingly. "Good."

"And speaking of royal weddings," Tyrion adds, turning to Eddard. "My sources tell me that the beautiful Lady Ophelia will be arriving this afternoon."

Eddard tries to look pleased, but really his insides are fluttering with nerves at the mention of his bride to be. He had been so busy with his duties that he had nearly forgotten the arranged marriage. Jon places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Well, that is good news. Lord Tyrion, see to it that the lady gets a proper greeting at the city gates. And I trust you'll take care of the preparations for the feast?"

Tyrion nods. "Of course, your Grace. Leave it to me."

Jon returns the gesture and gives Eddard's shoulder a comforting squeeze, before getting up from the table. "I trust that you all will behave yourselves?" he addresses this to his younger children, but Alexander knows he means him as well for he did not miss his pointed glance.

The princes and princess all mumble their assent and Jon seems pleased. He excuses himself from their presence, needing to go and make his own preparations for Lady Ophelia's arrival.

As he turns to the doors. He hears Kaiden say, "I saw Mother leaving the castle on Drogon's back! One day, I'll have a dragon of my own and ride him into battle!"

Jon pauses for the briefest of moments with his hand pressed to the door, his son's words sweeping through his mind. He doesn't quite know how he feels about them. There is such ambition in the blood of Targaryens, and their mother's fire definitely burns within their children. He shakes away the ill feelings and exits the Dining Hall.

He finds Daario Naharis standing guard outside the doors, tossing a coin into the air. The dark haired essosi grins at Jon and Jon barely spares him a glance as he walks right past him. He is not in the mood. The sound of his footsteps lets him know that Daario is following him, and he starts to whistle some foreign tune. Jon sighs with irritation. Must his guard be this arrogant cretin?

As he walks with Daario behind him still whistling, Jon's irritation rises and threatens to boil over until finally he halts and turns on him, his eyes flashing. "Will you stop whistling?"

Daario seems amused, and his whistle dies on his lips as he gives him a shit eating grin. "As you command. Your Grace," he adds after a long hesitation, and the words ring with bitterness.

Jon glares at him a moment longer, then turns and continues walking toward the throne room. Daario falls into step beside him, his hands behind his back.

"So Lady Ophelia arrives today at long last?" he muses. "Ah, I knew her father well. Served as his sword and shield."

"Did you?" Jon couldn't sound less interested.

"Aye. The great city of Volantis. Strange city, it is. Didn't spend a great deal of time there, but it was enough to know that the women there are...exquisite. I don't believe your son will be disappointed with his bride."

Jon says nothing but can tell that for whatever reason, Daario is making small talk with him. He acknowledges his words with a brief nod of his head. Daario keeps casting sidelong glances at him and Jon finally sighs in frustration and turns to him.

"Is there something else you wish to say, Ser?"

"Actually, there is." Daario turns a bit more serious now as he squarely faces Jon. "I wish to give you a bit of advice."

"Oh, do you?"

"Aye. You may have the Queen's heart but you did not know her as I did in Essos. She was fearless, ruthless. And strong."

Jon steps closer to Daario, his blood starting to boil. "I don't need you to tell me who she is."

"But you do. You see, for as much as you try to tame her, you will only push her further away. Any man who I've known to attempt has suffered at her wrath. She is a dragon, a true dragon. And you should treat her as such."

The two men glare at each other, an open challenge hanging between them. Jon knows that Daario's affections for his wife are no secret, and he knows they have a history. He also knows that Daenerys has love only for him, but that does not stop the anger that burns in his chest as Daario Naharis glowers at him.

"I know who she is," he repeats with ice in his tone. "I've always known. But you're forgetting something."

"And what's that?"

Jon steps closer so that they are nose to nose. "I too have dragon's blood in my veins," he utters in a deadly whisper. "You do well to remember that, Daario Naharis."

He feels a wave of satisfaction as the dark haired man's eyes narrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He knows he has gotten under his skin. Good.

…..

The North

The further they progress North toward the Wall, the colder the air gets. Rodrick shivers on the back of his black mare. He still wondered how on earth he had let Bronn talk him into this. The dark haired older man rode a few paces ahead of him, singing a song under his breath. Rodrick thought it sounded like _The Bear and the Maiden Fair._ Ten of the former sellsword's men rode along beside them, all silent.

Rodrick trained his eyes as far as they could see, and in the distance he could just make out the peak of a large snow covered mountain which he knew lie in wait beyond the Wall. He doubted there was anything of interest there besides the old castle and the wall of ice. But he had to admit curiosity had stirred within him since he was a young lad hearing stories of the men of the Night's Watch, pledged to guard the wall and people south of it from the threats beyond it.

He knew that wildlings still lived in scattered tribes, since Jon had allowed them to settle in their old homes after the great war. He wondered if they would come across any and how they would react to travelers. Would they be friendly? Defensive?

"Now there's a face deep in thought," Bronn's voice startles Rodrick. He notices that he had fallen into an equal trot beside him. "Not having second thoughts, are you? You could still turn back to Winterfell."

"And then you'd starve without someone who knows how to properly use a bow," Rodrick retorts.

"Fair point."

"Do you think we'll run into any wildlings?"

"It's possible."

"Friends or foes?"

"Guess it depends on their mood and the time of day." Bronn looks at Rodrick's serious face and chuckles softly. "I've met them, fought with them. Nasty tempers, they have. Especially this red headed one who called himself Tormund Giantsbane. Look at him funny, and he'd have your innards around his neck before you could whip out your cock for a piss."

"Is he…?"

"Dead? Aye. But he took a lot of those dead fuckers with him first."

Rodrick couldn't even imagine what things had been like back then. It was difficult to fathom.

"But they're loyal to good King Jon," Bronn continues. "He gave them their land back. And they prefer to keep to themselves. They're very...clan-ish. Can't say they won't give us any trouble for trespassing into their territory, but they won't kill us. They respect him too much for that."

"We can hope for that, you mean," Rodrick says doubtfully. "According to you, they don't seem to differentiate between friends and enemies too well."

"Aye. And they can smell your fear too." Bronn's eyes gleam with amusement. "So as long as you don't provoke them, then we just might make it back in one piece."

Rodrick is silent as they ride on. He can feel Bronn's eyes on him.

"Scared yet, lad?"

"No." Rodrick's jaw is set.

Bronn nods and faces forward. "Good. Because I have a feeling there's more than just wildlings out there. And _that's_ what I would be worrying about."

"The white walkers have all gone. Unless you speak of ghosts. And don't you start up about that again, either."

"Not talking about white walkers, and not talking about ghosts." Bronn looks ominously at the mountain, half concealed in thick white clouds. "The North is a vast place, and much of it remains unexplored. Anyone who dared to venture far into its depths never returned, according to records."

Rodrick glances at him. Is he trying to scare him or is he being serious? It's hard to tell.

"If that's true, then you're leading us to a suicide mission," he says darkly. Now he was really regretting coming along. The way back to Winterfell wasn't far...but no. Rodrick was no coward. And he couldn't deny the curiosity that pricked at him.

"Maybe," says Bronn with a shrug. "Maybe not. Imagine the rewards though, of discovering something new for the history books. Being the first men to venture to the Lands of Always Winter and live to tell the tale."

"The Lands of Always Winter?" Rodrick is incredulous. "Are you mad?The climate isn't very accommodating. We'd die before we got very far! And we aren't properly clad for such temperature extremes!"

Bronn just smiles knowingly. "We have what we need, my Lord. You're just going to have to trust me."

Rodrick wants to question him more but Bronn starts singing his stupid song again, obviously closing the conversation to further discussion.

Rodrick sighed. This whole idea was insane. It was suicide. But Bronn seemed convinced they would survive. He has no choice but to trust him.

…

King's Landing

Horns blared and the people of the capitol clapped and cheered, women tossing flowers as the white carriage made its way through the crowd toward the gates to the city.

Jon stood at the foot of the steps, wearing his kingly golden shawl and crown. Daenerys still had not returned from her expedition, and it felt strange to stand without her at his side. But his people expressed their love for him and roses of all colors were thrown at his feet. People waved to him from windows and shouted, "My King!" He would never get used to such attention.

His eldest sons stood on either side of him, dressed in their royal garb. Prince Eddard held his head high and his shoulders drawn back, but Jon could tell he was nervous. He inconspicuously nudged his shoulder to get him to meet his warm, encouraging brown gaze. Eddard's eyes which were so much like his own, blinked gratefully at him, appreciating the silent support, no words needed. Jon remembered the first time he had gone before Queen Daenerys, not knowing what to expect or what he was getting himself into. He had expected everything except what he saw when those doors opened and he walked into the dark halls of Dragonstone and laid eyes on the Silver Haired beauty sitting on the throne. How often his thoughts went to her.

On the far right side stood the rest of the royal company, including Ser Davos, Lords Varys and Tyrion, Melisandre, and Maester Tarly. On the left side stood the princes and princess, with Lady Mira among them. The young Stark looked absolutely in awe of everything, and was practically quivering with anticipation as the white carriage drew closer.

Mira leaned toward Katarina to whisper, "Is Lady Ophelia really the most beautiful woman across the Narrow Sea?"

"I guess we're about to find out," says Katarina as she claps along with the others, forcing a smile. These matters were always dull to her. And her mind was on other things, like a murderous dragon God prophesied to come and swallow the world whole. She needed to confront Sam about her findings, and convince him to let her help with his research.

Mira's eyes are drawn forward again when the carriage stops a few feet from where Jon and his sons stand. She stands on her tiptoes to see over the heads of the many people gathered in the street as a man wearing red satin robes moves to open the carriage door. And out steps a woman who is indeed breathtaking.

Her skin seemed to appear almost golden. Her raven black hair was long and styled in such a way that could only be native to highborn women of Essos. She was dressed in white, with golden bangles decorating her wrists and catching the sun's rays. Mira stared. So did everyone gathered.

The man in red took the woman's hand and turned to face Jon, and together he and Lady Ophelia bowed and curtsied respectively.

Melisandre steps forward, the red ruby at her neck glinting. "You stand before King Aegon Targaryen the II, King of the Andals and the First Men, the White Wolf, and the Prince that was Promised. Whom do you present?"

"I present to you Lady Ophelia of the Red Sea and Volantis, the city of Fire."

Melisandre smiles and takes Ophelia's hands in her own and kisses them. "My Lady, it is an honor to meet someone of my homeland. You are very welcome here."

"And you are the great Melisandre, a humble servant of R'hllos," Ophelia says in High Valyrian. "The honor is mine."

Melisandre nods and steps aside, her head down as Jon walks closer to Lady Ophelia with a warm smile.

Jon takes Ophelia's hand and kisses it. "My Lady, welcome to my city. I do hope your travels were well?"

"The weather was good and the sea was kind, your Grace," Lady Ophelia says in the common tongue, though with a strong accent. "This is a beautiful country."

"Yes it is."

Lady Ophelia's eyes notice the absence of the Dragon Queen but she does not raise the question, and Jon is glad. He gestures for his children, and Mira, to step forward.

Mira almost trips over her dress as she does, and Katarina smiles at her, violet eyes dancing with amusement.

"Princess Katarina, Princes Kaiden and Caius. And my niece, Lady Mira," Jon introduces them in turn and they all curtsy or dip their heads. Ophelia smiles at all of them, and it is dazzling.

Alexander steps forward and Jon introduces him.

"My Lady," Alexander dips his head and kisses Ophelia's hand. She smiles at him but her eyes travel over his shoulder and land on Eddard, who is staring at her. Their eyes lock, and Eddard almost forgets to move as his father introduces him.

"And your betrothed, Prince Eddard Targaryen."

Eddard reminds his feet to function as he walks to her, hoping with as much confidence as he can muster, despite the beating of his heart like a mockingbird.

Lady Ophelia held her hand out expectantly but Eddard instead placed his hands gently on her face and kissed both her cheeks, a very intimate greeting. Lady Ophelia looks surprised but pleased as she smiles shyly at the prince when he looks at her.

"It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Ophelia," he says in his most charming voice, though to him it sounds shaky. No one seems to notice though. He can feel his father watching him with pride.

"The pleasure is all mine, my prince," says Ophelia warmly.

Mira watches the exchange and thinks it is very sweet. Everyone has eyes on the beautiful woman from Volantis, but Mira can feel eyes on her. She tears away her gaze and meets the blue eyes of a dark haired young man standing across from her, wearing the royal armor of the Crown. A wisp of dark hair hangs just below his eye and his mouth looks like it has probably been kissed by many. Why is he looking at her like that? Her, a mere girl from the North?

He looks away and the spell breaks, and Mira realizes she'd been holding her breath.

"Are you alright?" Katarina asks her.

Mira's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yes, I'm fine. Did I miss anything?"

Katarina looks at her oddly and shakes her head. "Everyone is going back into the castle. You sure you're alright. Your face is the color of Drogon's scales."

Mira's eyes widen as the crowd begins to disperse. "I've never seen a dragon before."

Katarina smiles. "You will."

…..

"That was wonderful!" Mira later gushes as she collapses on her bed, spreading her arms along the soft silk bedding. "All the people, the music. The excitement!"

"It gets old after awhile," Katarina says, lying down next to Mira and propping her head in her hand.

Mira stares at her incredulously. "Don't you like being a princess?"

"I guess." Katarina shrugs, picking at the fabric.

Mira shakes her head at her and looks to the ceiling, imagining herself in Katarina's position. A princess with loyal servants and a promise to marry a prince when the time came. Then her mind briefly goes to the young man in armor who had been looking at her in the crowd,

He was no prince, but he was handsome all the same. And probably brave. He had to be. She wondered how many battles he's seen. How much blood his sword had tasted. A shudder ran down her spine.

"You'll be Queen someday," Mira says to Katarina, turning her head to look at her cousin.

"I'm the third born," she says doubtfully. "My brothers will rule long before I ever do, and besides...I really have no desire to be Queen."

" _What?"_ Mira gasps in exasperation.

"Mention this to no one," says Katarina. "But what I really want to do-"

Mira never found out. There was a sharp knock at her door and the girls sat up. Mira called out, "Come in!"

They are both surprised to see Jon enter the room. "Ladies," he nods to them. He looks at Mira. "I have an important task for you."

"Oh?"

"You will serve as Lady Ophelia's handmaiden. You will attend to her needs, whatever she asks of you."

Both girls look at each other in shock. Mira definitely hadn't been expecting this when she came to King's Landing.

"Mira came here as our guest, not a servant!" Katarina is the one to protest.

"A handmaiden to a noble lady is of high honor."

"Mira _is_ a noble lady! And she's family!"

"It is Sansa's wish that you learn responsibility," Jon says firmly. "And humility, and discipline. And I can think of no better way, can you?"

Katarina looks like she wants to protest again but Mira stops her. "No, it's alright. It would be my honor to serve Lady Ophelia. Perhaps I could learn a great deal from her." If she was to marry a high lord or prince someday, it couldn't hurt to learn from the source. And it was her mother's wish, and she did not intend to disappoint.

Jon smiles at his niece, knowing that she would see it that way. "Perhaps. Very well, then. Your Lady waits in her chambers. Go and properly introduce yourself. And Mira, this isn't a punishment. I want you to know that."

"I know."

…

Jon is kept busy for the remainder of the afternoon in Davos and Gendry's company. Gendry had made a smooth recovery after a couple days resting in the infirmary and now spent some time catching up with his two old drank and talked and told their stories of what they'd been up to. The subject of the Freys got brought up and Jon reassured them that it was taken care of. They discussed the Hill tribes, and Jon once again thought of Daenerys. She should be back by now. Unless something had gone wrong?

No. He would not let his mind go there. He convinced himself that he needed to stop worrying about her. She was strong and had Drogon, and Jon knew he wouldn't let anything happen to his mother. He just hoped she hadn't been wreaking too much havoc. As if his thoughts had summoned them, he heard a loud screech in the distance.

Jon quickly got up and went to the window in time to see Drogon returning to the city, flying toward the Dragonpit, his cries ringing through the air.

"No matter how many times you see that," Davos breathed from beside him at the window. "You never get used to it."

…

Daenerys sees him from her place on her dragon's back. She sees him standing in the Dragon Pit, waiting for her. Her heart leaps in her chest and she can't dismount Drogon fast enough. Before she can move he is there, reaching for her.

She smiles and puts her hands in his and allows him to help her down and before she knows it she is in that favorite place she had missed so much. The arms of the man she loves.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Sorry it's been a little while since updating, but here you go! Took me a while to write this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy! Dany and Jon share a sweet reunion, we see what Arya is up to in Essos, and Sansa is still ever paranoid about the damn Freys. Haha thanks for reading!**

Chapter 9

King's Landing

Jon had gone over on his mind a million different ways to apologize to his Queen for walking out on her the way he had when he should've given her his support. The regret he felt after she had flown from the city without a proper goodbye had eaten at him, leaving him hollow. He was prepared to justify his misgivings, to help her understand his hesitation and doubts.

But when he saw her return on the back of her dragon, appearing unhurt all thoughts had flown from his mind. The only thing he wanted was to hold her and worship the gods for bringing her back safely to him. To cherish every part of her. And he intended to.

Daenerys had still been shaken from her encounter with the witch she'd long thought had been dead. Burned on Khal Drogo's pyre at her command before her very eyes. Now it appeared that her black and restless soul had lingered long enough to inhabit the body of another, only to find Daenerys and haunt her. The witch claimed she would not die until Daenerys breathed her last breath, but was there truth to her words? Another prophecy, perhaps? Or just some sort of black magic? A witch's curse?

Daenerys knew not, and the ride back to her home in King's Landing had been a long one. She was tired, every bone in her body ached from exhaustion and weariness. She did draw comfort in Drogon's warmth, and a sense of security. It was not enough to quell her worries, however. And there was still the unsettling realization that her love, Jon Snow, was waiting for her. He was probably still upset with her and had spent his time brooding in her absence if she knew him well. She could not stand to look upon his face and see him look at her with such guarded and sad eyes. Like she had disappointed him. Or perhaps scared him. She wasn't sure which was worse.

But none of it had mattered when she saw him standing in the Dragon Pit when she landed. All thoughts had flown from her mind the moment she found herself in his strong arms. Whatever tension that had existed between them had ceased to exist as they clung to each other in their reunion.

Now words died on their lips as they found themselves in their shared solar, nothing to be said to describe what they felt. There was no King or Queen. There was no prophecies, curses, or an uncertain future. There was only the here and now, and they were just Jon and Daenerys, lost in each other as the rest of the world faded away.

Clothing was scattered to the floor. Lips moved feverishly together as limbs entangled in their haste to get to the bed. Jon rested his hands on her hips and felt her quiver at his cold touch to bare skin. She feathered kisses along his jawline, relishing in the tickle of his facial hair. He needed her lips on him more than he needed air. He craved her. Ached for her. His beautiful queen had him sprawled beneath her and completely at his mercy.

As she continued her labor of love, making sure to kiss his old scars that covered his chest and torso, his hands explored her body. They caressed places of her he knew well after so many years. He could himself hardening against her warm core and he would not be able to withstand much longer without being inside her. She found her way back to his mouth with her own, and he kissed her back with equal fervor. Tongues battled for control, neither of them wanting to yield to the other. The inside of her mouth was warm and sweet, inviting.

How could he ever have doubted her? This woman was to be the death of him. She was his life, his everything. He knew that he would love her no matter the choices she made. He would follow her through hell as long as she continued to make him feel like this. Continued to make his Northern-bred heart beat wildly with so much as a touch.

Daenerys forgot about the flow of time. She forgot about all the things that troubled her. She knew nothing but the sensations tearing at her body that were threatening to make her come apart at the seams. She was so lost in his kisses that she didn't realize at which point he had flipped them over, his strong body pinning her beneath him. But she knew the exact moment he entered her, stretching her. Her legs opened wider for him to accommodate and accept him. Their lips maintained their contact as he began his gentle thrusts. She rocked her hips in perfect rhythm to his movements, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jon knew that when she did this she wanted him to go faster, harder. So he did. Until she was in so much ecstasy that she tilted her head back, eyes half closed and perfect lips parted as a breathy moan escaped them. He watched her, in complete awe of her as she gave in to the overwhelming pleasure that he bestowed upon her.

Daenerys raised her head long enough to meet his eyes, her violet eyes hazy with lust and desire. It was enough to send him over the edge, reaching his climax. He knew that when she bit her lip that she was close as well. He felt her muscles contract and her legs tightened around him. She gripped his shoulders and her moans turned more desperate as he pounded into her. She was vulnerable like this, every inch of her trembling as she came. After a couple more powerful thrusts he came as well, and they collapsed together, the only sound being that of their heavy breathing.

Daenerys turned to him and saw chocolate eyes gazing at her with so much love that it stole the breath from her lungs. There were times she felt she did not deserve this man. He was too good to her. Gods, it was difficult to fathom how after so many years their lovemaking still seemed to get better each time. They knew each other's bodies and desires backwards and forwards. More than that, they knew each other's minds. Daenerys found it hard to be around him sometimes, because she could swear he could read her very thoughts. If she looked at him for too long, she feared he would see the fears that she fought to keep hidden in the dark corners of her mind. For his safety.

"I love you," she whispered, bringing her fingers to stroke just beneath his chin, a soft smile at her lips.

"And I you," he says, reaching to pull her closer to him. Her chest pressed against his, she could almost feel the knocking of his heart. It was soothing to her. She almost drifted off to sleep and thought he had as well, before he spoke again.

"This wasn't how I imagined things would go."

Daenerys looks up through her lashes at him. "No?"

"I had prepared to have a serious discussion about the way we left things." He trailed his fingertips along her ribcage and she shivered as she always did. "I battled with my emotions."

"So did I," Daenerys sighs. "I wanted to be mad at you for walking away from me, but I couldn't. Instead I was...hurt." She remembered the way he had looked at her when she told him her intentions to fly to the Edge of the Vale and force the Hill Tribes into submission. The look in his eyes of obscurity. It tore at her heart. She swallowed.

"I did not want to hurt you," Jon murmurs. "Do you think I find enjoyment in disagreeing with you? I could've said things to make you stay, but you would not have listened. And fighting with you, especially in front of the others was not something I wanted. And then having you leave without putting things right between us damn near killed me."

Jon felt her body tense and he angled his face to look at her. She had tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I should have listened to you."

"No." Jon gripped her chin and made her look at him. "Do not be sorry. You made a difficult decision as Queen, and I should have supported you as King. Damn that, as your husband. The moment you and I stand divided against one another is the moment our people lose faith in us. The kingdoms we rebuilt together depend on our unity."

"I know that." Daenerys pulls away from him and sits up. She gathers her long silver hair in her hand and pulls it over one shoulder, running her fingers through it thoughtfully. She is quiet for a moment and Jon waits patiently for her to speak. "All my life I've been faced with difficult decisions. Decisions that almost got me killed on several occasions."

"And I haven't?" Jon props himself up with his elbow and looks at her. "I've made decisions that I knew were the right ones even when others didn't agree." He takes her hand and draws it to the scar on his chest. Her eyes turn sad as he continues. "I have these scars because men hated my decisions. And they murdered me for it. My uncle, Eddard Stark lost his head because of the decisions he made as well. But I don't regret a single one, and I know that he would not either. I was once told that many will always doubt or question you. But the moment you begin to doubt yourself, then you are lost."

Daenerys slowly lifted her gaze from his scar to his handsome face. A comely face that seemed untouched by the passage of time. A face she would continue to see even after she closed her eyes forever. She believed in his words.

"You're right," she said. "But even still...I should have listened to you. I should not have gone." She turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Jon watched as she strode over to the side table and poured herself some wine. He frowned as she had her back to him. Had something happened?

"Daenerys...did something go wrong?" he ventured.

For a long time she didn't answer. She pulled on a black silk robe and tied it around her, her eyes to the floor. Her silence was agonizing. He knew now that something was wrong.

"Tell me." His voice was firm, yet gentle.

She sighed. "Where do I even begin?"

She told him about the encounter with the Hill Tribes, about the arrogant yet admirable young Roric of Ash. That stubborn fool had reminded her of Jon when they first met, unwilling to yield his people to a foreign queen. Much the same as this outlandish rebel. She told him about Mirri, and she struggled with that bit of the story. It sounded unbelievable to her as she relived it. The horror of watching that evil woman harm Drogon in a way she never would have thought possible. Jon remained silent as she talked, his eyes on her.

When she was done talking she sipped from her wine, finding her mouth to be dry. Jon looked almost as if he didn't believe her, and she didn't blame him. If she had been told some witch had come back from the dead and had managed to single handedly subdue a dragon the size of a castle, she would probably not believe it either.

But then he spoke. "Do you believe her?"

Daenerys peered at him over the brim of her cup. "What?"

"Do you believe what she says, about her life being connected to yours? Is that even possible?"

"After all we've seen, are you seriously asking that question?"

"I am, because this same woman also told you that you couldn't have children, and we proved her wrong six times."

"With the death of my dragon my womb was able to produce a living child again," Daenerys reasons, more to herself than anything. "Only death can pay for life."

"Then one death would've given you one child."

"There were many deaths," Daenerys says softly, pain in her voice as the faces of her fallen friends and companions flashed before her mind's eye.

"Even if what she says is true, why show up in Westeros now after twenty five years?" Jon still remained skeptical. "Surely she is capable of killing you, so why hasn't she?"

Daenerys hesitates. He has a point. Why _would_ Mirri only just now decide to seek her out?

"I...I don't know." Then Melisandre's prophecy came to her mind. Was this what the the priestess meant when she said that Daenerys had enemies everywhere? Those who called for her blood? Was Mirri somehow linked to the return of the Dragon God? Probably not, but Daenerys was sure that if the cold blooded witch had her way then she would not live to even see that ominous prophecy unfold. Fear made her heart freeze in her chest. Jon must've saw it in her eyes too.

He quickly got out of bed and crossed the room to her, his hands on her face. "Whatever the reason for this...witch returning, I promise you this. I will _not_ let any harm come to you. I will die before she takes you from me. Do you understand?"

"You did not see what she did to Drogon." Daenerys is doubtful. "How can we stand against that?"

"How did we stand against an army of thousands of undead? Including your fallen dragon. We will find a way, my love. I swear it."

Daenerys still had many doubts in her mind, but they withered to dust as she looked into the eyes of the man she loves with all her being. He was right. They had stood together against the impossible once before and had survived. They would do so again. And they would do it together.

…

Winterfell

It was early morning and the sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon, casting a weak light over the pale surroundings of the North. There was a chill in the air that cut to the bone, but Asher Stark was quite used to it. In fact, he found it exhilarating.

His feet stirred the fallen leaves still left over from Fall as he darted around the small clearing, swinging his sword against his red faced opponent. Garrett Tuttle was no knight, a mere squire for Asher's father. But the young man showed drive and promise as he practiced with his sword. When he came of age he would make quite the warrior.

"Too slow!" Asher easily dodged Garrett's attacks and he turned to face the younger man. Garrett was panting, clearly out of breath, beads of sweat wet against his forehead. "Honestly, boy, do you think your enemies will lie down and let you hit them? Again!"

They continued to spar late into the morning, until the sun finally offered a bit of warmth to their skin. Asher regarded his friend with his hands on his hips, his chest heaving.

"What's the matter?" Garrett taunted, pointing his sword at him with a grin. "Getting too old?"

"I haven't even reached my prime, you fucker."

Garrett lowers his sword and the two men chuckle. A good morning workout, indeed. The freckled boy looks up at the sun and shields his face from the rays. "Had enough for today. We should head back."

"Aye. Just let me wash my face first."

Garrett turns to his horse as Asher makes his way to the shimmering stream further into the copse. He drops to his knees and dips his hands into the cool water. It's much colder than it looks, but he welcomes the freshness as he splashes it against his face.

The snap of a twig nearby catches his attention. He pauses, listening. An animal? Deer, maybe? Something else? Always cautious, Asher slowly gets to his feet, his eyes fixed in the direction he had heard the sound. A soft rustling in the bushes upstream. If anything, whatever was lurking there could be breakfast. Asher pulls out his dagger and begins to creep toward the bush.

He holds his breath as he inches closer, doing his best to keep his feet from making a sound. Then a head bobs up from behind the bush and he stops. Not an animal, definitely a person. All he can see is the crown of the person's head, blonde hair. No one near Winterfell with blonde hair. Which means this person was trespassing.

Quick as a snake, Asher's arm darted out and he grabbed the person, his dagger at their throat. He had heard a very feminine gasp, and he quickly realized it was a woman.

Asher tightened his hold on her, dagger still poised. "Who the hell are you?"

"Unhand me and perhaps I'll tell you," she responds with a quick tongue. She doesn't seem to be afraid of him, which annoys him.

"You're in my woods, girl," he hisses. "And I'm the one holding the dagger. Seems to me, that you're in no position to make demands."

"Aye, and seems to me if you wanted to kill me you would've done so without needing to know my name first."

Asher hesitates, and curses to himself because he knows that she picked up on his reaction. She turns her head slightly to look at him, a taunting glint in her green eyes. With an irritated growl, Asher yanks her around fully to face him, his dagger still against her throat. He knows she is right. He will not kill her. But that does not excuse her for trespassing into his family's part of the woods. And he'd be damned if he allowed her to think she had the upper hand in this.

"I'm not going to ask you a third time," he warns. "Who. Are. You?"

She looks at him stubbornly, her lips set in a firm line and he takes the moment to study her face. Her skin is fair and he's close enough to count the freckles on her nose. Her eyebrows are perfectly arched above long lashes that flutter subtlety as she regards him in silence.

He was losing his patience. He didn't have time for this stupid, arrogant girl who had probably gotten lost in the woods. She didn't appear to be much younger than he was, and he could tell she was no threat. He slowly lowered his dagger, his eyes never leaving her face.

Only then did she speak, her voice dripping with mirth. "There. Now that wasn't so hard. Was it?"

He scowled as he slid his dagger into his belt. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

She smiles wantonly. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Asher could feel his temper boiling. "By the Gods-!"

"Do not bring the Gods into this," she interrupts. "Dire consequences may befall those who take their name in vain."

Asher glares at her, his hands balled into fists. "I'll ask you a different question then. What are you doing here? Surely you must be a long way from home."

She nods to something on the ground and he looks and sees a woven basket at her feet. A cloth covers the contents, and he is still at a loss.

"I'm gathering," she tells him. "Replenishing my stores. Unfortunately some of the herbs I need only grow in your part of the woods."

She's a healer then? Asher let his gaze travel from her face and along the length of her body, taking her in. She looked a bit young to be so, but he could believe it. Still, she had no right to be venturing into his homeland uninvited and without permission.

"So you're admitting to stealing?" he challenges her. "I could have a hand for this. Perhaps just a finger, since I'm feeling kind."

She doesn't flinch. Again, this annoys him. He'd never met a woman who gets under his skin so much.

"I was not aware you owned the forest, my Lord," she says, and he catches the sarcasm laced in her voice. "The trees, the leaves, the stream, the rocks all belong to the Old Gods. They belong to no man. And I shudder to meet the one who would deny a servant of the Gods passage in their domain."

Asher is thrown by this, and again she knows this. He can see it in the way her moss green eyes twinkle with subtle amusement. The faint twitching of the corners of her mouth as she looks at him. The gall of her. She had guts, he'd give her that. And he couldn't deny that despite how much she annoyed him, she intrigued him as well.

He was too busy staring at her, lost in thoughts that he almost didn't catch what she had said next, but he saw her lips moving. "I am no threat to you, my Lord. I have taken what I need, and I shall take my leave."

She turned to do just that and he stopped her by taking her wrist. She looked at his hand on her, then her eyes slowly rose to his face and he felt his damn heart lurch. Actually _lurched._ Fuck, why did it do that? He had never felt it do that before. And he had come to know plenty of women with far more to offer than her in the ways of beauty. Yet something about her made his stupid heart do something weird in his chest. _Who is she?_

He licked his suddenly dry lips and realized how she kept calling him 'Lord.' "How do you know that I'm a lord?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

She surprises him. "I know all about you. The great Starks of Winterfell."

He is rendered speechless. She turns once more and stoops to pick up her basket. She walks away a few paces before he manages to find words again. "So do I get to know your name, or not?"

She stops. Turns her head slightly so he can only see part of her face. When she answers he feels his heart lurch for an entirely different reason.

"Gwyn. Frey." And she turns and disappears through the trees.

Asher stays rooted to the spot, staring at the gap in the trees for what seemed like ages. Frey. She was a Frey. One of _them._ Well, fuck.

…..

Sansa tapped her fingers on the wood of her chair as she listened to the report of her Maester. The Freys continued to grow and expand their forces, and apparently had been whispering to the other Northern Houses that had sworn allegiance to the Starks. Anger swept through her. Were they attempting to sway her bannermen to their side? Were they planning an attack?

"Their hatred for us is no secret," Sansa says in a stony voice. "I think it naive for us to go on believing that peace will continue to exist between our two houses for much longer."

"Those sworn to you would never waver, my Lady," Maester Frederick reassures her. "They are our loyal bannermen. Lord Manderly is the one who sent a raven warning me of the Freys doings."

"Yes, the Manderly's will always remain loyal, of that I have no doubts. Jon showed them great mercy all those years ago when he could've had their castle burnt down for serving the Boltons. I assume we can continue to count on the Karstarks as well?"

"Yes, my Lady. The Karstarks remain true. However…"

"What?"

"There are those who have never been on the best of terms with us."

Sansa sighs, knowing perfectly well who he speaks of. "Yes, the Greyjoys. Though they swore fealty to Queen Daenerys, Yara Greyjoy has never forgotten our history between our houses. And neither have I." Sansa would never forget how Yara's brother Theon had captured Winterfell and killed many of those who had once looked upon him as one of their own. Sansa had once considered him a brother. She had forgiven him in her own way once she'd seen what Ramsay had done to him and he had proven his worth by helping her to escape.

But she still would never forget.

"Might I make a suggestion, my Lady?" Maester Frederick breaks into her thoughts.

Sansa nods for him to continue.

"We must secure our link to the most powerful allies we have. Like the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Lord Jaime would prove to be a very valuable ally if war ever came upon us."

Sansa nodded slowly as she considered his words. Yes, if the Northern Houses indeed did decide to turn against her and rally to Ludd Frey's cause, then she would need to seek allies further south. She couldn't expect Jon to fight her battles for her after all, and she would not allow him to. She was Warden of the North. She needed to show strength on her own two feet. And she would do so by forging her own path without her brother's protection.

"You speak a truth," she says. "However, the Lannisters and the Starks share a long and bloody history as well. And I am not so willing to forget that Jaime pushed my brother from a window. No matter how many times he proved himself after."

"With respect, I am not discounting his crimes against your family," Maester Frederick dips his head. "I am merely stating that Lord Jaime Lannister commands the strongest and most well trained army in the West. And if it came down to it, I would rather have his sword with us, rather than pointed at us."

Again, Sansa had to admit that he spoke the truth. Bran forgave the act against him by Jaime's hand as he claimed it had been what made him become the three-eyed raven. Perhaps if Bran could let it go, then she could too.

"He has a daughter around Rodrick's age," Maester Frederick points out. "Lady Elaena. Join our houses with an act of marriage, and secure an alliance."

Sansa thinks on this for a moment. "Perhaps...it's high time my eldest son took a wife anyway. Very well. Fetch me quill and parchment," she orders her nearby servant. "I will send my request to Lord Jaime. I only hope I don't live to regret this."

Joining Lannister blood with Stark blood. She never thought she'd see the day. She didn't know if she was going mad or was just desperate.

"Still no word from Arya, my Lady?" Maester Frederick is curious, and Sansa's heart sinks at the mention of her sister.

She shakes her head and looks toward the window. "No. But I imagine she is someplace warm. With the sun at her back and a sword in her hand."

…

Essos

Arya sings softly to herself as she carefully bathes the still body on the stone table. She treats the body with care as she cleanses each limb with delicate strokes. She hears footsteps behind her and she stops singing but does not turn around as she continues to wash the body.

She knows who comes behind her. She has memorized the step of every man and woman she lives among.

"A girl has another contract from the Many Faced God," the voice of Jaqen H'ghar speaks.

Arya wrings out her washcloth into the basin of water. "And where does this contract take me this time?"

"To a woman by the name of Muiri. She is the one who gives the contract."

"Where will I find her?"

"A girl knows how to find what she seeks. Or does a girl need reminding?"

Arya finally turns to look at the tall man. Even now she still was not quite sure how old he was, or if the face he wore was even his. She had never asked, and she knew he would never tell if she did. But she had come to know him very well over the years, had come to call him friend. Fellow servant to the Many Faced God.

"A girl does not," she says. "I will find Muiri. I will listen to what she has to say. And our God shall have another soul as he commands."

Jaqen nods to her and turns to leave as swiftly and quietly as he came. Leaving Arya with a dead body on a table.

….

It didn't take Arya long to find out from the locals that Muiri often frequents the Silverblood Inn at the corner of Halian Street. Arya tries to avoid that place when it suits her, as the men there behave like heathens. She is in no mood for cutting off hands today. She is on business of the Faceless Men, and nothing more.

Wearing a scarf over her mouth, she enters the tavern unnoticed and glances around until she finds the woman that matches the description a local described to her. A stout woman with short dirty blonde hair, sitting with her back to Arya in a dimly lit corner. Inconspicuous. Smart woman.

Arya moves to sit quietly in the chair next to hers without a word. She does not even look at her.

Muiri does not look at her either. She takes a long drink of ale and speaks quietly with her eyes on the dusty wall in front of them. There is music playing and people talking loudly, full of drink. No one pays any attention to them.

"So you have come."

"As you knew I would. Tell me what you need."

"What I need?" Muiri scoffs. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die. I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is."

"A girl needs more details than that. Go on."

Muiri sighs before taking another drink of ale. Arya felt she was gearing up for a long story and she didn't have the patience, but she forced herself to stay silent as the woman began to speak once more.

"I didn't know it when we were...together...but Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old ruin-Raldbthar. It's near Astapor. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids. I want you to go there, find Alain Dufont. And kill him."

"And the others?" Arya muses in a monotone voice.

"I do not care about them, do as you please. Just make sure you kill that bastard."

"It will be done."

"Excellent. Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you quite well."

"A girl does not kill for money."

"Be that as it may, I have one more favor to ask of you."

Arya said nothing but continued to listen. Muiri had peaked her interest.

"If you can, I need you to kill someone else as well. Not as part of our deal, but if you do. I will make it worth your while. You say you don't kill for money, but I am still willing to pay your for your trouble."

Arya hesitates. Taking a life beyond that of a contract is considered to be highly forbidden. And though she often refused the offer of gold in return for her services, Muiri's offer was quite tempting.

"A girl needs a name," she murmurs.

"Her name is Nilsine Shatter Shield. Kill her for me, and you will be rewarded."

Arya stared at the wall, many thoughts going through her head. "Is there anything else?"

"I had planned to kill Alain myself, and Nilsine too," Muiri tells her. "But lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Perhaps you can use it more effectively for your cause? Just coat your weapon with it...and, well I don't believe I need to spell it out for you, do I?"

"No."

Arya holds out her hand beneath the table and Muiri slides a small vial into her palm. Arya pockets it and stands.

Muiri finally looks at her. "Do you want to know why I want them dead?"

"A girl does not need to know," Arya says flatly. And she turns and walks out of the tavern.

….

Essos-Narrow Sea

"Fuck, it's hot," Pip complains from where he sits in the small boat. Shared between three men, with one of them being the rather large Weaver, it's an uncomfortable fit.

Ronald scowls at his lanky companion from where he sits opposite, rowing. "Oh shut up, you. I don't see you doing anything useful other than running yer mouth, while Weaver and I do all the work."

"Oh piss off," Pip grumbles, reaching for his flask. "It's all your damn fault we're even in this fuckin boat. You had to run your fat mouth to Ludd about the Stark girl."

"Aye, if I hadn't the fat fuck would've ripped out our tongues, or don't you remember?"

"Shut up, the both of you," Weaver rolls his eyes. "We're lucky to be breathing."

Pip spits into the sea water and makes a face. "What's he playing at, sending us across the world?"

"He hopes to have us killed, that's what he's playing at," says Ronald darkly. "He thinks we'll end up dead in one way or another. And he's probably right. Even if we did manage to kill the bitch, Ludd would still execute us the moment we set foot back at the Twins."

"So let's not go back then, eh?" Pip says. "Fuck the Stark bitch, let's find us an Inn in Braavos and drink into the next moon, and find a few whores to bury our cocks in."

Weaver looked like he agreed with Pip, but Ronald was shaking his head solemnly. "We received a direct order from Lord Frey. We must follow through."

"Who bloody cares?" Pip argues. "You said so yourself, he means to have us killed. Let him go on thinking we died and failed our mission."

"I never said anything about going back home. I'd rather die in a foreign country than have to tolerate that man's presence for one more second."

"But you said-"

"Aye, I know what I said. We ain't goin back. But that don't mean we won't have our fun with the Stark girl first."

A large grin spreads across Weaver's face but Pip still looks doubtful.

"You really think we can kill her? The girl almost single handedly wiped out our entire House!"

"Aye, but she didn't, did she?" Ronald focuses his eyes on the nearing horizon that is Essos, the Red Wasteland.

Even if they failed, and she managed to slip through their fingers, at least they would have the opportunity to avenge the name of their House. It was something worth dying for.

….

King's Landing

"I for one, am pleased to hear that you did not decide to burn everything down to the ground," Tyrion remarks from where he sits at the round table, the small council gathered with Daenerys and Jon at the head. "Not that I ever had any doubt in you at all, your Grace."

"I appreciate your good faith, Lord Tyrion," Daenerys nods to her Hand. "It was never my intention to do such a thing. I don't believe in innocent lives lost. There were a great many women and children present, those who were not responsible for the sins of their own. I did, however send a message by burning their treeline."

"How well was the message received?" Varys asks, his arms hidden in the long sleeves of his robes and a skeptical look on his face.

A dark shadow passes over the Queen's face. "Not well. At least not with their leader, practically still a boy. He outright refused my offer, even at the exchange of safety for his people. He showed himself to be very stubborn and unwavering."

"Sounds like someone we all know." Tyrion looks at Jon, and Daenerys does as well. Something passes between the two of them.

"Yes, there is no denying that he shares certain qualities," she says slowly. "Except he is cruel and ruthless. From Drogon's back I saw him murder one of his own. Before that, he has led his men to rape and murder. And I made it quite clear to him I will not let this behavior stand."

"So is he still breathing?" Melisandre speaks up. Daenerys looks at her with raised brows. "Surely you must've killed him for refusing to bend the knee?"

Daenerys thought of Mirri Maz Duur and once again found herself reliving the horror of what that foul woman did to her dragon with a simple hand gesture and a few spoken words. What had happened after she flew back to King's Landing? Did the witch remain with the Hill tribes? Did they plan to use her as weapon against her?

Jon could read her face. He reached for her hand beneath the table and she was grateful for his touch. Should she tell them about the witch?

"I did not," she answers Melisandre's question. "I...I meant to. But then something happened. Something I would never have thought possible. They had a woman with them. A witch."

"Witch?" Sam utters, his eyes wide. "Like a real witch?"

The man had always been fascinated with idea of magic and witchcraft, and he knew it existed but he had never had the luck of discovering it for himself. Everyone else at the table however simply stared at their Queen with looks of shock or disbelief.

"Yes," said Daenerys. "A real witch. In fact, she was the witch who murdered my first husband and cursed me with a barren womb many years ago before I came to Westeros. I killed her by burning her alive for her crimes. I thought her truly dead all this time. Until I saw her. Very much alive but in the body of another."

A shocked whisper swept across the table and Jon squeezed his wife's hand. He knew it was difficult for her to discuss. But Daenerys grew tired of keeping secrets. She had too many as it was, and there didn't seem to be a way to avoid this one.

"How could this be possible?" Tyrion questions. "I thought only the Lord of Light had the power of resurrection. And surely a woman so evil could not be acting on his will?"

"Certainly not," Melisandre says, almost sharply. "But there are far more powers that exist beyond that of the Lord of Light, I have seen them. This is where the old saying, 'The night is dark and full of terrors' stemmed from. There are many dark forces that exist in this world unseen."

"If that is the case then our Grace is not safe," Varys speaks over the voices that met the red woman's words.

"Surely one woman can't stand a chance against a full army and a dragon?" says Tyrion.

Daenerys flinches, and Jon feels for her. Of course she is thinking of what the witch did to Drogon. The pain she must've gone through to have to watch that.

"She is not just a woman," says the Queen. "And I watched her subdue my dragon without so much as a wave of her hand. I watched him wriggle and writhe in the dirt before me as I could do nothing but watch helplessly. It is the one time I have felt truly afraid since the days the white walkers roamed these lands."

Her council all exchanged looks. Melisandre remained silent and appeared to be in deep thought. Sam looked absolutely horrified.

"We must all be cautious," Jon finally speaks, quieting the dissent among his council. "The patrols will be doubled. Sam, Melisandre. You two must do all you can to find a way to stop this witch. She says she cannot be killed, but I have learned that everyone and _everything_ can be killed, in more ways than one." He leaves out the part about Daenerys believing Mirri will only die when she does.

Jon stands. "We have faced a great many dangers in our time. And we have overcome them all. We will do so again."

Everyone in that room believed their king's words.


End file.
